THE   CHIPPENDALES 


.The 

Chippendales 


BY 

ROBERT    GRANT 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1909 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  April,  1909 


The  Chippendales 


CHAPTER  I 

BLAISDELL  had  come  to  Boston  to  seek  his  fortune.  Not 
precisely  without  a  penny  in  his  pocket,  as  tradition  ex 
pects,  but  with  only  two  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank  and 
knowing  no  one  in  the  Athens  of  America.  He  had  been 
born  and  his  boyhood  had  been  spent  in  a  large  town  in  the 
State  of  Maine.  His  father  had  fallen  in  the  Civil  War, 
and  Hugh's  education — Hugh  McDowell  Blaisdell  was  his 
full  name— had  been  obtained  by  sacrifices  on  his  mother's 
part.  Although  eager  to  go  to  work  in  order  to  provide 
comforts  for  her  old  age,  he  had  yielded  to  her  prayer  that 
he  should  pass  four  years  at  one  of  the  smaller  New  Eng 
land  colleges,  from  which  he  had  lately  been  graduated. 
Six  weeks  after  his  Commencement  Day  his  mother  had 
died.  When  he  roused  himself  from  his  grief  to  face  the 
world  he  had  chosen  Boston  rather  than  New  York, 
mainly  because  a  friend  offered  to  give  him  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  General  Horatio  Langdon,  the  banker. 
General  Langdon,  who  was  the  commanding  officer  of  the 
brigade  to  which  his  father  had  belonged,  had  not  only 
found  him  a  business  opening,  but  had  recommended  him 
to  apply  for  lodgings  to  Mrs.  Avery.  Her  abode  was  on 
Dartmouth  Street,  but  on  that  part  of  it  slightly  to  the 

l 

247964 


2  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

south  of  Copley  Square — just  beyond  the  pale  of  fashion, 
yet  within  breathing  distance  of  an  aesthetic  atmosphere. 
Were  not  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts  and  Trinity  Church 
close  at  hand?  .. 

Though  only  forty-eight  hours  had  elapsed  since  his 
coming,  Blaisdell  believed  that  he  had  made  a  favorable 
impression  on  the  inmates  of  the  house.  He  desired 
people  to  like  him;  people  always  had  liked  him— as 
a  lad  and  at  school  and  at  college.  In  the  beginning  he 
had  never  thought  of  the  effect  he  produced;  indeed, 
he  did  not  now  think  about  it  at  the  time,  for  he  was 
not  self-conscious;  but  he  had  examined  his  own  winning 
way  and  intended  to  persevere  in  it.  Did  this  consist  in 
his  wide-awake  and  sociable  address?  Or  his  incisive 
power  of  stating  what  he  had  to  say?  Or  his  cheerful, 
optimistic  point  of  view?  Listlessness  and  indifference 
were  repugnant  to  him.  Ever  since  he  could  remember,  it 
had  been  natural  to  him  to  be  pleasant  to  those  with  whom 
he  was  brought  in  contact,  and  the  sound  of  his  own  voice 
had  had  no  terrors  for  him.  How  many  people  were 
listened  to  grudgingly  because  they  were  ineffective  in 
their  delivery!  No  one  hesitated  to  interrupt  them,  and 
they  were  thrust  into  the  background.  He  liked  to  keep 
his  listeners  silent  until  he  had  finished.  Every-day 
humor  appealed  to  him,  and  he  not  only  enjoyed  an  enter 
taining  anecdote  but  could  tell  one  engagingly,  a  faculty 
which  was  also  characteristic  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  most 
illustrious  of  self-made  men. 

In  the  light  of  his  perception  of  these  qualities,  certain 
historic  careers  beckoned  to  him,  and  he  believed  that  he 
recognized  in  himself  some  of  the  hall-marks  requisite  for 
success.  He  intended  to  succeed;  he  had  always  so  in 
tended;  with  which  goal  in  view  he  had  studied  hard  at 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  3 

school  and  had  proved  to  be  one  of  the  leading  scholars  in 
his  class  at  college.  His  first  idea  had  been  to  become 
a  lawyer — one  who  would  convince  courts  and  juries  by  his 
clear,  fluent  logic.  The  desire  to  earn  money  more  rapidly 
so  as  to  recompense  his  mother  for  her  devotion  while  she 
was  still  capable  of  enjoying  the  luxuries  of  modern  life — 
concerning  which  he  had  read  in  the  newspapers — had 
turned  his  mind  toward  business,  and  his  mind  had  re 
mained  fascinated  by  the  prospect.  If  others  had  been 
able  to  accumulate  large  fortunes  by  persevering  industry 
and  the  shrewd  exercise  of  their  wits,  might  he  not  do  the 
same?  The  vast  industrial  resources  of  the  country  were 
just  beginning  to  reveal  themselves.  Why  should  he  not 
take  part  in  their  discovery  and  exploitation  ? 

The  thought  had  become  a  fixed  purpose  by  the  begin 
ning  of  his  Senior  year.  There  were  some  family  prece 
dents  for  his  decision.  His  paternal  grandfather  had  been 
a  local  judge  and  his  maternal  grandfather  a  physician, 
but  when  the  war  broke  out  his  father  had  been  paying- 
teller  of  the  town  bank,  and  his  mother's  only  brother, 
who  was  drowned  in  the  prime  of  life  on  one  of  the  Maine 
rivers,  had  been  a  lumber  merchant  and  the  owner  of  saw 
mills.  His  mother's  death  had  crushed  his  spirit  for  the 
time,  so  that  he  took  no  joy  and  found  no  stimulus  in  any 
thing.  When,  at  the  spur  of  necessity,  he  opened  his  eyes 
and  faced  reality,  he  saw  himself  at  the  bottom  of  the  lad 
der,  lacking  resources  and  influential  friends.  He  could 
have  remained  at  college  as  a  tutor,  but  his  imagination 
had  been  fired  and  his  mind  was  made  up.  Yet  in  his  day 
dreams  he  had  avoided  fixing  on  the  particular  business 
he  wished  to  follow;  indeed,  he  did  not  possess  the  knowl 
edge  necessary  for  apt  discrimination  as  to  which  offered 
the  surest  opportunity  to  an  ambitious  youth.  He  was 


4  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

eager  for  a  foothold,  and  in  that  spirit  he  had  grasped  the 
first  hand  held  out  to  him.  "We  have  no  vacancy  at  the 
present  time,"  said  Horatio  Langdon,  "but  I  happen  to 
know  of  a  firm  which  is  on  the  lookout  for  an  enterprising 
young  man — one  not  afraid  of  work.  The  junior  partner 
has  died  recently  and  they  are  short-handed."  This  con 
versation  had  taken  place  a  week  before,  and  now  he  was  a 
clerk  in  the  employ  of  Delano  and  Kurd,  brokers  and  deal 
ers  in  stocks  and  bonds. 

He  had  come  home  from  the  office  this  afternoon  only 
just  in  time  to  get  ready  for  dinner.  As  he  looked  in  the 
glass  while  shaving  he  beheld  a  smiling  countenance.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  two  girls,  his  landlady's  daughter, 
Lora  Burroughs,  and  her  step-daughter,  Priscilla  Avery, 
and  was  reflecting  on  his  good  fortune  in  finding  himself 
under  the  same  roof  with  them  both.  Mr.  Langdon  had 
done  him  another  good  turn  in  this.  And  how  dissimilar 
they  were!  Blaisdell  was  not  sure  which  of  the  two  he  ad 
mired  the  most.  Hearing  their  voices  as  he  ascended  the 
stairs  to  his  chamber  he  had  asked  himself  again  this  ques 
tion,  which  he  was  still  pondering.  Possessing  the  happy 
faculty  of  summoning  the  absent  before  his  mind's  eye,  he 
proceeded  to  make  a  mental  photograph  of  them  for  his 
edification.  In  Lora  he  saw  a  trig,  compact  little  girl  of 
medium  height,  with  an  erect  carriage  and  alert  move 
ments.  She  was  becomingly  plump.  These  evidences  of 
elasticity  served  to  neutralize  the  somewhat  doll-like  effect 
of  her  blue  eyes,  golden  hair,  dimples,  and  slight  lisp.  The 
thought— though  strictly  impersonal— had  already  occurred 
tov  him  that  here  was  a  desirable  combination — a  woman 
whom  it  would  be  a  constant  joy  to  caress  and  who 
would  neglect  neither  her  husband's  dinner  nor  his 
stockings. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  5 

Priscilla,  on  the  contrary,  was  tall  and  spirited-looking, 
with  wavy  dark-brown  hair,  a  nose  just  aquiline  enough  to 
denote  strength  of  will  without  being  obtrusive,  and  what 
he  denned  to  himself  as  a  swan-like  neck.  Her  movements 
were  graceful  but  swift,  suggesting  a  spirit  of  unrest,  as 
though  she  were  pursuing  something  which  constantly 
eluded  her.  His  experience  of  womankind  was  limited, 
but  he  believed  that  he  preferred  what  he  called  com 
fortable  girls — and  Priscilla,  with  all  her  beauty,  was 
obviously  of  the  high-strung  order.  She  interested  him, 
yet  she  reminded  him  of  a  tense  young  Amazon;  whereas 
Lora's  musical  laugh  was  soothing  and  would  be  a  menace 
to  care.  The  first  time  he  had  heard  it  was  on  the  day  of 
his  arrival.  On  the  way  up-stairs  to  show  him  his  room, 
Mrs.  Avery  had  introduced  him  to  her  two  daughters, 
who  were  descending.  In  depositing  his  bag  in  order  to 
shake  hands,  he  had  managed  to  knock  it  with  his  foot  so 
that  it  toppled  over  and  went  bumping  down  three  or  four 
steps  until  caught  by  the  wainscoting.  Thereupon  Pris- 
cilla's  soulful  eyes  had  danced,  but  Lora  had  exploded 
gleefully. 

Like  the  good-humored  fellow  he  was,  Blaisdell  was 
susceptible  to  mirth  at  his  own  expense.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  was  not  fond  of  making  slips,  however  unim 
portant.  To  be  sure-footed  and  clear-cut  in  whatever  he 
undertook  was  a  leading  article  in  his  code  of  life.  He 
had  echoed  Lora's  merriment,  but  he  had  looked  at  her 
with  an  expression  which  announced  definitely,  though 
playfully,  that  he  intended  to  be  even  with  her  some  day. 
And  her  blue  eyes  had  drooped  under  his  gaze.  Was  it  on 
this  account  that  a  vision  of  convulsed  loveliness  set  in 
a  frame  of  golden  hair  rose  before  him  as  he  thought 
of  her? 


6  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Now  that  he  had  brought  his  mind  to  bear  upon  the 
question,  he  was  conscious  of  this  slight  preference.  Yet 
it  merged  itself  again  in  his  sense  of  general  satisfaction 
at  his  surroundings,  for  he  was  encouraged  to  believe  that 
he  had  become  a  member  of  a  family  circle  rather  than  an 
occupant  of  a  boarding-house.  His  landlord,  Gideon 
Avery,  a  student  of  science  and  an  inventor,  visionary  but 
scholarly  and  refined — a  sort  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
looking  man  with  dreamy  eyes  and  a  slight  stoop — gave  an 
air  of  gentle  dignity  to  the  establishment  which  harmon 
ized  with  his  prepossessions  regarding  Boston.  He  had 
wedded  recently — so  General  Langdon  had  informed 
Blaisdell — a  second  wife,  Mrs.  Olive  Burroughs,  widow  of 
the  late  Colonel  Leander  J.  Burroughs,  of  Ohio.  She  had 
come  east  to  complete  the  training  of  her  daughter  Lora's 
voice,  and  the  marriage  had  been  the  result  of  a  summer's 
propinquity  at  one  of  the  beaches  where  their  small  cottages 
had  stood  sMe  by  side.  The  second  Mrs.  Avery  was 
buxom,  ingratiating  and  capable.  She,  as  well  as  Lora,  could 
sing  and  play  attractively,  and  they  both  had  at  the  tips  of 
their  fingers  all  the  melodies  of  the  day.  On  the  library 
table  lay  the  latest  books  and  the  current  magazines. 
Lora  was  taking  the  course  at  the  Conservatory  of  Music 
and  Priscilla  Avery  was  studying  art  for  the  time  being  at 
the  neighboring  Museum.  It  appeared  that  his  landlady 
had  induced  her  husband,  who  had  lived  for  years  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Harvard  elms,  to  set  up  his  new  house 
hold  gods  in  Boston  in  order  that  the  girls  might  be  nearer 
to  their  work.  There  was  another  boarder  besides  him 
self,  named  Morgan  Drake,  a  young  man  with  large  eyes 
and  a  thin,  wan  face,  who  was  connected  with  a  magazine 
and  had  literary  aspirations. 

Thus  complacent  at  his  good  fortune  in  having  fallen  on 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  7 

his  feet,  Blaisdell  went  down-stairs.  It  was  Saturday  and 
he  recalled  that  Mrs.  Avery  had  informed  him  at  breakfast 
that  she  kept  open  house  on  Saturday  evenings  for  the 
homeless  and  the  clever  young  men  of  her  acquaintance- 
most  of  them  interested  in  one  or  another  of  the  arts.  She 
gave  him  to  understand,  that  during  the  year  since  her 
marriage,  they  had  acquired  the  habit  of  dropping  in  for 
a  welsh  rabbit  after  the  recently  established  symphony  con 
certs;  and  that  she  was  apt  to  invite  to  meet  them  two  or 
more  of  her  daughters'  girl  friends  and  some  of  the  junior 
instructors  from  the  neighboring  University  across  the 
Charles. 

While  Blaisdell  was  finishing  his  toilet,  the  rest  of  the 
family,  including  Mr.  Drake,  had  been  listening  to  the 
animadversions  of  a  guest  who  had  been  asked  to  dine— 
Mr.  Paton,  assistant  professor  of  Greek  at  Harvard.  He  was 
a  rather  short  and  rather  stout,  yet  dapper  man  of  thirty, 
with  a  dome-like  forehead  and  a  heavy,  brown  mustache 
which  curved  deeply  and  rose  in  bristling  points,  giving 
him  a  somewhat  piratical  look  in  spite  of  his  glasses.  He 
was  fond  of  airing  his  grievances,  chief  among  which  were 
the  encroachments  of  science  on  the  sacred  classical  curric 
ulum — the  time  with  which  we  are  concerned  was  the 
early  eighties— and  the  growth  of  the  elective  system  of 
studies.  He  was  known  by  the  Averys  to  be  engaged  in 
the  preparation  of  a  work  on  the  Greek  dramatists,  de 
signed  to  emphasize  their  literary  significance,  and  it 
happened  that  the  first  words  said  to  him  by  his  hostess  as 
she  greeted  him  had  been  the  sympathetic  inquiry,  "How 
goes  the  magnum  opus?" 

She  uttered  this  in  an  undertone,  but  he  chose  to  answer 
it  aloud,  as  though  he  desired  the  widest  audience,  stand 
ing  with  his  back  against  the  mantel-piece.  "What  time 


THE   CHIPPENDALES 

has  a  man  in  my  position  for  original  work  ?  There  was  a 
time  when  a  professor  at  Harvard  College  was  a  personality 
— a  moral  and  aesthetic  force — not  a  mere  intellectual  ma 
chine  run  at  high  pressure." 

Mrs.  Avery's  parlor  was  pseudo  pre-Raphaelite  in  tone. 
The  predominant  colors  of  its  upholsteries  were  chromatic 
greens  and  yellows.  The  medium-sized  room  had  a  cosy 
but  somewhat  crowded  effect.  At  opposite  corners  stood 
two  tall  lamps  with  large  Japanese  shades.  There  were 
sundry  low  chairs,  a  piano,  and  a  divan  piled  with  soft 
cushions  sheltered  by  a  screen  decorated  with  real  fans. 
Lora  was  sitting  among  the  cushions,  a  banjo  in  her  lap. 
Priscilla  leaning  forward  from  a  basket-work  chair  ob 
served  the  speaker,  with  whose  opinions  she  generally 
disagreed,  although  she  knew  him  to  be  a  scholarly  person. 
To  her  he  represented  a  censorious  attitude  of  mind  and 
hostility  to  progress,  whereas  she  had  sympathy  with  en 
thusiasm  and  welcomed  new  ideas. 

"But  you  get  three  months'  vacation  every  year,  don't 
you?"  It  was  Lora  who  spoke,  never  antagonistic,  but 
invariably  practical. 

Mr.  Paton  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  a  Frenchman 
might  have  done.  "We're  fagged— done  up  by  Com 
mencement  Day,"  he  exclaimed  trenchantly.  "But  the 
real  point,  Miss  Lora,  is  that  there's  no  longer  any  real 
reverence  for  learning  out  there.  Everything  is  sacrificed 
to  the  plan  of  rushing  men  through  as  fast  as  possible  in 
order  that  they  may  get  a  job.  A  scholar — a  trainer  of 
scholars  ought  to  have  time  to  ponder.  Then  we'd  de 
velop  into  something  besides  academic  automatons.  As 
it  is— 

"But  my  idea  of  some  of  the  old  professors— the  kind 
you  revere— was  that  they  were — er — almost  lazy,"  broke 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  9 

in  Priscilla.    "They  colored  their  pipes,  they  pottered  in 
their  gardens,  and  now  and  then  they  delivered  a  lecture." 
" Exactly.     Yet  they  had  atmosphere;    and  they  pub 
lished  masterpieces,  not  pamphlets." 

"But  one  was  required  to  study  subjects  one  didn't  care 
for  at  the  feet  of  men  who  might  be  drowsy  or  behind  the 
times.  Now  a  student  need  go  in  only  for  the  courses  he 
is  interested  in;  and  isn't  it  fair  that  his  instructors 
should  devote  their  best  energies  to  teaching  him  what 
there  is  to  know  ?  That's  the  modern  view." 

"The  modern  view!  The  dollars  and  cents  point  of 
view,"  he  retorted.  "We  must  earn  our  salaries  to  the 
last  nickel." 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation  Blaisdell  entered  the 
room. 

"Professor  Paton,  let  me  make  you  acquainted  with 
our  new  boarder,  Mr.  Blaisdell.  Mr.  Paton  is  a  professor 
of  Greek  at  Harvard,"  said  Mrs.  Avery  in  her  cheerful, 
resonant  voice.  "He  would  have  us  believe  that  the 
elective  system  is  all  wrong  because  some  of  the  students 
will  have  none  of  his  pet  Latin  and  Greek.  You  never  get 
much  solid  comfort  in  this  house,  do  you,  Mr.  Paton?" 

Alert  and  gracious,  Mrs.  Avery,  in  her  silk  dress  cut 
square  in  front  with  flowing  lace  sleeves,  looked,  as  she 
glanced  from  one  to  the  other,  a  little  like  a  pouter  pigeon. 
She  was  about  her  daughter  Lora's  height  and  comely  still 
in  spite  of  her  full  cheeks.  She,  too,  had  dimples,  and  her 
silky  light  brown  hair,  arching  itself  becomingly  in  its 
profusion,  gave  to  her  expression  a  certain  coquetry  which 
tempered  her  whole-souled  laugh  and  executive  ways. 
"This  is  his  hobby  and  the  girls  lose  no  opportunity  to 
tease  him,"  she  added  in  an  audible  whisper,  turning  to 
Blaisdell. 


10  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"The  tide  is  running  their  way  now,  but  wait — wait  for 
twenty  years  and  see  what  people  will  say  then."  The  pro 
fessor  gave  a  nervous  twist  to  his  mustache  by  way  of 
emphasis. 

"Twenty  years!  We  may  all  be  in  our  graves  by  that 
time,"  cried  Mrs.  Avery.  But  dismissing  this  mortuary 
train  of  thought,  she  added,  "Long  before  the  end  of 
twenty  years  you  will  have  finished  your  magnum  opus, 
Mr.  Drake  will  be  famous  as  a  poet  or  a  novelist,  and  my 
husband  will  have  perfected  his  invention."  As  she  con 
cluded  she  beamed  on  Mr.  Avery,  who  was  patiently  wait 
ing  for  his  dinner,  a  silent  yet  attentive  listener. 

Blaisdell  perceived  that  his  landlady  was  an  optimist, 
and  his  heart  warmed  toward  her.  That  she  should  mani 
fest  faith  in  the  entire  company  revealed  an  agreeable  out 
look  on  life.  It  was  obvious  that  she  was  the  executive 
spirit  of  the  establishment,  and  at  the  same  time  level 
headed.  Presumably  she  was  not  blind  to  her  husband's 
visionary  proclivities,  and  yet  chose  to  humor  them. 
Simultaneously  Blaisdell  had  observed  a  shade  of  restraint 
come  over  Priscilla's  countenance  as  though  she  did  not 
approve  of  the  encouragement  vouchsafed  to  her  father. 
He  noticed  how  like  to  her  father's  was  the  high  bred, 
delicate  cast  of  her  features,  but  that  there  the  resembknce 
ceased.  At  least  she  displayed  none  of  his  deprecating 
forebearance,  but,  on  the  contrary,  was  evidently  disposed 
to  challenge  what  did  not  please  her. 

Blaisdell,  too,  was  ready  for  his  dinner,  yet  content 
to  bask  for  a  moment  in  the  sunshine  of  his  own  good 
fortune.  What  a  pretty  room  it  was— much  the  most  in 
viting  and  ornamental  he  had  ever  seen  outside  of  an  hotel. 
He  had  as  yet  no  social  standards,  for  up  to  this  point 
there  had  been  few  opportunities  in  his  life  for  discrimina- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  11 

tion,  and  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  question  the 
substantial  truth  of  the  euphemistic  maxim,  early  im 
parted  to  him,  that  all  Americans  are  created  equal. 
There  were  criminals,  of  course,  and  the  lowest  grade  of 
foreigners,  but  everybody  else  was  practically  the  peer  of 
his  neighbor.  Such  apparent  grades  as  existed  marked 
merely  the  possession  of  a  little  more  or  less  money,  a  dis 
tinction  which  signified  nothing  socially.  At  the  same 
time,  he  was  aware  that  Americans  as  a  rising  nation  were 
constantly  making  progress,  and  it  elated  him  to  find  him 
self  in  surroundings  compared  to  which  those  of  his  early 
days  seemed  plain  and  even  dingy.  As  he  took  in  once 
more  the  enlivening  effect  of  the  Japanese  lamp  shades 
and  the  screen  decorated  with  real  fans,  he  silently  ap 
plauded  the  domestic  enterprise  of  his  new  friends.  Was 
not  the  girl  who  had  laughed  at  him,  sitting  in  her  pretty 
frock  among  the  cushions  toying  with  her  banjo,  a  real  and 
enchanting  improvement  on  the  heroines  of  Eastern  love 
tales?  While  he  thus  reflected  their  eyes  met,  and  at  the 
same  moment  he  heard  her  remark  with  a  solicitude 
which  struck  him  as  mock — 

"But,  mama,  you  left  out  Mr.  Blaisdell  from  your 
prophecy." 

All  eyes  were  promptly  turned  on  the  new  boarder, 
which  was  doubtless  what  the  young  woman  had  intended. 

"  It  wasn't  because  I  overlooked  him,  you  may  be  sure  of 
that,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Avery  blithely,  "but  forty-eight 
hours  is  a  short  time  in  which  to  fathom  the  secret  ambi 
tion  of  a  young  man's  soul  unless  one  is  a  mind  reader. 
Mr.  Blaisdell  is  in  business,"  she  explained  for  the  benefit 
of  Professor  Paton.  "He  has  just  started,  and,  without 
any  disrespect  to  Greek,  we  may  fairly  assume  that  he 
hopes  in  twenty  years  to  be  very  rich  and  able  to  live  on 


12  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street,  or  the  sunny  side  of  Com 
monwealth  Avenue.  There!  Mr.  Blaisdeil,  will  that  do? 
But  speaking  of  mind  readers,  we  have  the  next  best  thing 
in  our  midst— an  astrologist.  If  I  am  in  error,  Priscilla 
will  read  your  horoscope." 

It  was  never  disconcerting  to  Blaisdeil  to  be  made  the 
focus  of  attention,  and  as  he  stood  unabashed  and  good- 
humored  seeking  his  cue,  he  observed  that  Miss  Avery,  un 
like  many  girls  in  similar  circumstances,  neither  simpered 
nor  protested. 

"I  hope  to  succeed,  certainly;  and  in  business  that  must 
mean  making  money,  I  suppose.  But  as  to  the  rest,  the 
water  side  of  Beacon  Street  and  the  sunny  side  of  Com 
monwealth  Avenue,  I  scarcely  know  where  they  are  and 
much  less  what  they  signify.  So  will  you  try?"  he  asked, 
bowing  toward  Priscilla.  He  was  not  averse  to  knowing 
what  this  interesting  looking  girl  would  discover  in  him. 
Had  it  been  Lora,  she  might  have  chosen  to  be  tormenting, 
but  he  divined  that  her  step-sister  was  sure  to  be  frank. 

Nor  was  Priscilla  diffident  where  her  interest  was 
aroused.  Semi-humorous  on  her  step-mother's  part  as  she 
knew  the  suggestion  to  be,  she  acceded  to  it  with  an  alacrity 
born^of  her  sudden  willingness  to  make  a  more  thorough 
scrutiny  of  this  newcomer's  countenance  than  she  had 
yet  allowed  herself.  Many  of  her  evenings  at  the  seaside 
during  the  summer  of  her  father's  courtship  had  been 
spent  in  studying  the  starry  heavens,  a  pursuit  which  had 
led  her  to  dip  into  astrology  sufficiently  to  become  con 
versant  with  the  lingo  of  lucky  and  malign  influences. 
Yet  she  did  not  now  invoke  this  as  she  arose  and,  shading 
her  brows,  studied  the  features  of  the  stalwart  young  man 
who  had  invited  her  to  provide  the  assembled  company 
with  a  clue  to  his  inmost  character.  She  was  prepared  to 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  13 

risk  a  prophecy  by  the  light  of  her  intuitions,  and  desired 
merely  to  make  sure  that  the  definite  impression  which  she 
had  already  formed  was  correct.  Blaisdell  had  appeared 
on  the  horizon  just  at  the  moment  when  she  felt  the  need 
of  some  one  to  whom  she  could  point  as  an  illuminating 
contrast — some  one  whose  personality  appealed  to  her  as 
the  antipodes  in  the  flesh  of  the  man  with  whom  her 
family  was  trying  to  persuade  her  that  she  was  in  love, 
and  whom  it  hoped  that  she  would  marry.  Henry  Sumner 
had  come  into  her  life  in  a  romantic  guise — but  was  he  not 
the  embodiment  of  qualities  with  which  she  had  no  pa 
tience  ? 

The  figure  of  her  prototype  was  erect  and  thick  set,  but 
of  manly  height.  His  air  was  reliant  and  cheerful.  Obvi 
ously  he  was  a  victim  neither  to  dyspepsia  nor  to  self- 
distrust.  His  round  face  was  full  and  not  too  mobile;  in 
dicating  that  he  would  not  go  off  at  a  tangent  contrary  to 
the  dictates  of  common  sense.  His  eyes  were  a  trifle  small, 
but  keen  and  alive  with  energy.  There  was  a  correlation 
between  them  and  his  shrewd,  humorous  mouth,  the  ex 
pression  of  which  was  guarded  but  not  concealed  by  a 
brown  mustache  inclined  to  be  stiff.  Smooth-shaven,  he 
might  have  resembled  a  friendly  priest  or  wise  cherub. 
As  it  was,  his  effect  was  sturdily  secular.  In  the  state  of 
mind  Priscilla  was  in,  he  impressed  her  as  being  one  of  the 
sanest  and  most  pleasant  looking  young  men  she  had  ever 
beheld.  Though  he  lacked  some  of  the  graces,  his  person 
ality  seemed  to  her  to  overshadow  that  of  every  one  else  in 
the  room,  radiating  enterprise  and  determination.  Who 
could  doubt  that  here  was  a  spirit  which,  when  it  had  an 
end  in  view,  would  not  perpetually  be  beating  about  the 
bush  or  questioning  the  accuracy  of  its  aim  ?  And  best  of 
all,  the  dominant  note  of  his  character  appeared  to  be  en- 


14  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

thusiasm.  She  felt  sure  that  he  would  never  feel  that  it 
was  his  mission  to  pour  cold  water  on  everything  like  some 
people  she  could  mention. 

"I  do  not  pretend  to  be  able  to  disclose  Mr.  BlaisdelPs 
secret  ambition,  but  I  can  see  that,  whatever  it  may  be,  he 
will  do  something  practical— do  it  thoroughly  without 
doubt  or  misgivings.  And  I  venture  to  predict  that  he 
will  never  let  his  New  England  conscience— if  he  has  one 
— interfere  with  his  usefulness." 

Priscilla's  tone  was  a  little  like  that  of  a  dauntless  be 
liever  uttering  a  creed  in  the  teeth  of  opposition.  It  was 
apparent  to  Blaisdell  that  he  was  merely  the  pretext  for 
a  confession  of  faith.  At  the  same  time  her  words  tallied 
with  his  own  inner  purposes  so  completely  that  he  mar 
velled.  He  heard  Lora  clap  her  hands  by  way  of  tribute 
to  the  appositeness  of  the  divination,  and  Mrs.  Avery  ex 
claim  gayly: 

"  There's  a  character  to  live  up  to,  Mr.  Blaisdell.  Mark 
my  words,  Priscilla  knows  what  she  is  talking  about." 

"I  shall  try.  It's  the  sort  of  man  I  should  like  to  be." 
Blaisdell's  hearty  response  left  no  room  for  doubt  both 
that  he  was  ready  to  set  his  feet  in  the  path  which  had 
been  blazed  for  him,  and  was  undismayed  at  the  prospect. 
"As  to  my  conscience,  Miss  Avery,  it's  New  England, 
but  I  shall  hope  to  justify  your  confidence  in  my  common- 


" Neatly  put.  Shall  we  go  in  to  dinner?"  said  Mrs. 
Avery,  for  the  maid  stood  at  the  door. 

"Is  not  all  life  a  struggle  to  reconcile  common-sense 
with  conscience?"  asked  Professor  Paton  sententiously. 
"But  do  any  two  agree  precisely  as  to  what  is  common- 
sense?" 

"No  two,  perhaps,  except  Miss  Avery  and  I." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  15 

The  music  of  Lora's  explosive  laugh  was  BlaisdelPs  re 
ward  for  this  rejoinder.  In  his  ignorance  he  imagined 
that  Priscilla  had  been  shooting  over  his  head  at  the  pro 
fessor,  yet  he  could  not  quite  account  for  the  sudden  in 
tensity  with  which  she  had  spoken.  Now  that  he  measured 
swords  with  him  for  a  moment,  he  noticed  that  she  smiled, 
but  not  as  though  she  took  a  strong  personal  interest  in 
their  exchange  of  pleasantries.  He  divined  that  she  had 
something  on  her  mind  the  inwardness  of  which  her  speech 
had  not  revealed  to  him.  He  noticed,  too,  that,  as  she 
walked  into  dinner  at  her  father's  side,  the  mild-mannered 
inventor  stroked  the  back  of  his  daughter's  head  after  the 
manner  of  one  who,  by  a  coaxing  touch,  seeks  to  soothe 
and  restrain  a  beautiful  but  unbroken  steed. 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  had  not  occurred  to  Priscilla  Avery  that  her  father 
would  marry  again.  She  had  taken  for  granted  that  his 
habit  of  worship  at  the  shrine  of  her  mother's  memory 
would  be  proof  against  middle-aged  masculine  sprightli- 
ness  or  the  blandishments  of  coquetry.  From  all  she  had 
been  able  to  gather  her  mother  had  been  exactly  suited  to 
him — a  sweet,  highly  sensitive  woman  of  his  own  social 
circle,  with  corresponding  spiritual  and  intellectual  sym 
pathies.  Yet  when  Priscilla  realized  that  Mrs.  Olive 
Burroughs  had  captured  him  in  his  fifty-second  year, 
while  she  experienced  a  slight  sense  of  shock,  she  admitted 
to  herself  that  on  the  whole  it  was  the  best  thing  for  him 
which  could  have  happened. 

It  had  been  a  clear  case  of  propinquity.  Mrs.  Bur 
roughs  and  Lora  had  been  their  next  door  neighbors  at 


16  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

one  of  those  beaches  where  people  of  modest  means,  es 
caping  from  heat  and  humidity,  camp  out  in  tiny  frame 
cottages  nearly  as  close  to  one  another  as  the  bathing 
houses  in  the  foreground  of  their  landscape.  The  cheery, 
buxom  widow,  who  sang  snatches  of  light  opera  and  Sal 
vation  Army  hymns  while  attending  to  her  household  du 
ties,  and  who  boasted  that  she  had  no  nerves,  had  begged 
them  from  the  first  evening  to  be  sociable. 

Her  cottage,  the  exterior  of  which  was  draped  with 
"Old  Glory,"  and  from  the  front  eaves  of  which  hung 
Chinese  lanthorns,  revealed  to  the  visitor  who  crossed  the 
threshold  a  nest  of  gay  silk  cushions  fortified  by  all  the 
magazines  and  latest  mechanical  puzzles  like  "Pigs  in 
Clover."  The  dexterity  with  which  his  hostess  compelled 
each  of  the  marbles  or  disks  to  seek  its  appointed  place 
was  a  constant  source  of  amused  surprise  to  Gideon  Avery 
who,  in  spite  of  his  erudition  concerning  the  principles 
controlling  such  matters,  was  awkward  in  his  manipulation 
of  these  slippery  nothings  of  science.  He  would  sit  by  the 
hour  fascinated  by  his  inability  to  master  the  toy  on  his  lap, 
while  the  widow  strummed  with  spirit  at  the  piano  and 
sang  the  airs  which  every  one  was  humming,  or  read  to  him 
some  progressive  paper  on  a  timely  topic.  They  had  fam 
ily  bathing  parties,  after  the  gaiety  of  which  they  sat  on 
the  sand  while  the  ladies  dried  their  hair.  The  indiffer 
ence  of  Mrs.  Burroughs  at  such  times  to  considerations  of 
vanity  became  a  feather  in  her  spiritual  cap.  It  was  as 
though  she  said,  "You  see  I  disguise  nothing.  Perpetual 
prinking  is  a  foe  to  informality,  and  informality  is  the  spice 
of  life." 

It  was  a  surprise  to  Priscilla  that  one  who,  in  her  ways 
and  point  of  view  was  so  unlike  most  Cambridge  women, 
should  be  able  to  captivate  her  father,  for  Mrs.  Burroughs 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  17 

had  won  him  by  her  blithe  and  somewhat  showy  versa 
tility — the  handiness  and  gusto  with  which  she  could  turn 
from  the  preparation  of  griddle  cakes  to  the  discussion  of 
current  world  problems.  These  were  the  widow's  summer 
manners  to  be  sure — for  they  were  living  a  "camping  out" 
life;  nevertheless,  Priscilla  could  not  but  be  conscious  that 
their  genial,  bustling  neighbor  was  of  a  less  delicate  clay 
than  her  transcendental  and  sensitive  parent.  Yet  when 
he  told  her  in  a  shy,  half-apologetic  way  that  he  was  en 
amoured  of  the  charms  of  informality,  the  announcement 
caused  her  no  repugnance.  On  the  contrary,  she  argued 
that  association  with  this  energetic  helpmate,  who  was  of 
a  suitable  age  for  him,  had  a  small  property  of  her  own 
'which  would  be  serviceable,  and  was  a  thrifty  yet  agreeable 
housekeeper,  would  enliven  the  rest  of  his  days  and  make 
the  final  disappointment  in  regard  to  his  scientific  experi 
ments,  which  she  believed  to  be  in  store  for  him,  more 
easy  to  bear.  To  a  girl  of  eighteen  his  fifty-two  years 
marked  the  beginning  of  an  end,  and  she  rejoiced  to  think 
that  when  she  should  leave  his  house  for  a  home  of  her 
own,  or  to  strike  out  for  herself,  there  would  be  some  one 
at  his  side  to  make  him  comfortable  and  happy. 

The  results  had  thus  far  more  than  justified  Priscilla's 
anticipations.  Mrs.  Avery's  first  husband,  Colonel  Leander 
J.  Burroughs,  who  had  followed  the  law  after  leaving  the 
army,  had  died*just  as  he  was  beginning  to  reap  the  fruits 
of  professional  success  and  cautiously  to  feel  his  way,  like 
a  true  Ohio  statesman,  toward  the  Presidency  of  the 
United  States.  She  was  seven  years  his  junior  and  Lora 
was  their  only  child.  He  left  a  small  life  insurance  and 
the  remnants  of  several  large  fees — some  $20,000  in  all— 
which  had  enabled  the  widow  to  come  East  for  the  purpose 
of  ascertaining  if  Lora's  voice  were  of  operatic  calibre. 


18  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Opinions  at  home — the  growing  town  to  which  they  be 
longed — were  unanimous  that  Lora  was  a  prodigy,  and 
though  Mrs.  Burroughs  recognized  in  her  daughter  her 
own  full-throated  ease,  an  endowment  which  when  rein 
forced  by  lack  of  diffidence  easily  deceives  the  uninitiated, 
she  cherished  hopes  that  such  was  the  case.  It  was  a  dis 
appointment  when  they  told  her  at  the  Conservatory  in 
Boston  that  the  prodigy  would  be  able  to  hold  her  own 
admirably  in  a  church  choir,  and  might  by  diligence  fit 
herself  to  shine  in  small  concert  halls,  but  that  she  could 
never  hope  to  become  a  prima  donna  by  any  amount  of 
zeal  or  application;  yet  the  elastic  sense,  if  it  may  so  be 
called,  of  both  mother  and  daughter  had  saved  them  from 
falling  under  the  spell  of  a  definite  delusion.  They  had 
faced  the  situation  and  agreed  that,  since  they  were  on  the 
spot,  the  wisest  thing  was  to  spend  a  year  in  the  vicinity 
in  order  that  Lora  might  obtain  the  instruction  necessary 
to  enable  her  to  make  the  most  of  such  voice  as  she  had. 
Then,  fleeing  from  the  summer  heat,  they  had  found  them 
selves  next  door  neighbors  of  Gideon  Avery  and  his 
daughter. 

Priscilla  had  many  times  asked  herself  why  Mrs.  Bur 
roughs  had  seen  fit  to  marry  her  father.  To  her  eyes  he 
was  a  lovable  but  pathetic  figure — a  man  who  had  failed 
utterly  in  the  struggle  of  existence  to  accomplish  practical 
results,  and  who  was  still  self-deluded.  'Just  at  the  age 
when  the  young  are  prone  to  judge  their  parents  most  se 
verely,  she  felt  pity  for  him  as  well  as  deep  affection, 
a  compound  resulting  in  a  state  of  mind  which  yearned  to 
protect  him  from  himself.  She  did  not  begrudge  in  the 
least  his  having  spent  his  small  capital  in  the  fruitless  en 
deavor  to  elucidate  mysteries  which  still  baffled  him.  His 
life  was  a  failure  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  world,  but 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  19 

it  was  his  life,  and  however  visionary  he  might  appear  to 
others,  he  had  been  faithful  to  his  high  aims.  What  she 
resented  was  that  he  remained  unconvinced  and  wished  at 
his  age  to  persevere.  Very  soon  after  the  marriage  she 
had  said  to  her  step-mother  from  the  fulness  of  her  heart, 
"I  do  hope  that  you  will  not  lend  my  father  any  money  to 
throw  away  on  experiments."  Already  the  new  wife's  in 
come  had  provided  him  with  numerous  small  comforts, 
and  Priscilla  dreaded  the  possibility  that  now,  when  he 
was  likely  to  be  comfortable  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  the 
same  depleting  process  might  begin  again. 

Mrs.  Avery's  reply  had  been  characteristic.  "I  guess 
I  shan't  let  him  bankrupt  me.  But,  you  know,  I  believe  in 
your  father.  I'm  sure  that  he  is  going  to  work  something 
grand  out  of  his  experiments  before  he  dies— something, 
maybe,  which  will  set  the  world  on  fire."  Then  she 
added,  "And  he  is  such  a  gentleman!" 

Indisputable  as  was  the  last  remark,  it  had  struck  Pris 
cilla  at  the  moment  as  irrelevant.  Subsequently  she  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  not  done  entire  justice  to 
Mrs.  Burroughs' s  point  of  view,  and  that  it  served  to  throw 
some  light  on  the  inquiry  why  the  latter  had  changed  her 
name  to  Avery. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Gideon  Avery's  refined,  sensitive 
personality  had  appealed  to  the  widow.  Like  Blaisdell, 
she,  too,  had  been  reminded  the  first  time  she  beheld  him, 
of  the  picture  she  had  formed  of  Emerson.  There  was  the 
same  gentleness  of  bearing,  slim  figure,  and  austerely  serene 
countenance.  Her  imagination  was  on  the  alert,  and, 
though  the  East  was,  according  to  her  preconceived  opin 
ions,  effete  and  socially  stolid,  she  was  in  no  haste  to  leave 
it.  Why  not  settle  down  for  the  rest  of  her  days — she  was 
only  thirty-eight — under  the  shadow  of  Harvard  College 


20  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

with  this  gentle  man  of  science  who,  though  he  might 
never  bring  to  pass  anything  practical,  would  give  her  a 
dignified  standing  and  the  opportunity  to  make  herself 
felt?  She  believed  that  she  was  practical  enough  for  both 
and  that  she  .had  social  gifts  into  the  bargain.  She  had  al 
ways  felt  sure  that  at  a  pinch  she  could  write;  she  wel 
comed  new  ideas,  and  would  be  glad  to  take  part  in  new 
movements. 

Her  first  idea  had  been  to  live  in  Cambridge,  but  reflec 
tion  had  changed  her  mind.  The  old-fashioned  wooden 
house  which  Mr.  Avery  had  occupied  for  twenty  years  did 
not  attract  her.  Its  weather-worn  exterior  exhibited  the 
depressing  shade  of  brown  one  associates  with  soaked  and 
faded  autumn  leaves  which  have  lain  long  in  the  gutter. 
Within  the  upholsteries  were  dingy  and  worn.  All  might 
be  refurbished  from  roof  to  cellar;  but  while  she  was  esti 
mating  the  cost  she  asked  herself  why  she  should  prefer 
Cambridge  to  Boston.  Cambridge  was  a  suburb  dignified 
by  a  seat  of  learning,  but  Boston  was  a  literary  centre  and 
a  crater  of  advanced  thought.  In  Boston  she  would  be  in 
closer  touch  with  the  throes  of  progress  and  still  remain, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  under  the  shadow  of  Harvard 
College.  Everybody  had  heard  of  Boston,  but  the  identity 
of  Cambridge  was  more  hazy  and  was  associated  with 
mere  book  learning. 

To  her  surprise  and  satisfaction  Priscilla  had  eagerly 
favored  the 'project  from  the  moment  it  was  broached. 
Move  to  Boston?  Leave  Cambridge  and  the  accumu 
lated  rubbish  of  half  a  lifetime  amid  which  he  had  fruit 
lessly  dreamed  ?  Nothing  could  be  more  desirable  for  her 
father.  New  surroundings  and  a  clean,  modern,  enliven 
ing  domestic  hearth  would  take  him  out  of  himself,  and 
give  him  a  fresh  hold  on  life.  Thus  supported,  the  widow 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  21 

found  little  difficulty  in  inducing  her  new  lord  and  master 
to  be  pulled  up  by  the  roots.  He  was  in  an  acquiescent 
mood  and  glad  to  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  his  new  happi 
ness  any  conviction  of  his  own  which  was  not  an  essential 
—and  to  remain  in  Cambridge  was  not  an  essential.  He 
submitted  gracefully,  and  scarcely  demurred  to  the  final 
disappearance  of  most  of  his  household  gods  in  the  vortex 
of  removal.  Some  stacks  of  pamphlets  and  his  books, 
which  looked  as  though  they  had  never  been  dusted,  were 
banished  to  a  side  room  to  be  known  as  his  "den,"  to 
make  space  for  lighter  literature  and  knick-knacks.  Yet 
there  were  limits  to  his  forbearance,  and  he  revolted 
when  he  missed  The  Spectator  and  The  Nation,  his  only 
annual  extravagance.  They  had  been  discontinued  on  the 
thrifty  plea  that  for  the  same  money  all  the  popular  maga 
zines  could  be  procured.  "And  you  know,  father,"  said 
Priscilla,  who  was  present  when  her  step-mother  owned 
up  to  the  substitution,  "that  the  daily  papers  now  have 
all  the  foreign  news,  and  it  isn't  really  good  for  you  to  read 
The  Nation,  which  always  says  just  the  things  you  al 
ready  have  in  your  mind — most  of  them  unpatriotic 
things,  too." 

From  the  first  moment  of  the  new  relationship  Priscilla 
had  resolved  to  confound  the  traditional  conception  in  re 
gard  to  step-mothers.  Most  girls  might  detest  or  disagree 
with  theirs;  she  intended  to  like  hers  and  to  meet  her  more 
than  half-way  if  necessary.  It  did  not  prove  necessary,  for 
the  second  Mrs.  Avery,  evidently  inspired  by  a  similar  sen 
timent,  had  showR  herself  maternal  in  her  advances,  so 
that  the  process  of  getting  used  to  each  other's  peculiarities 
had  been  lubricated  by  reciprocal  admiration.  Mrs. 
Avery  admired  Priscilla's  look  of  breeding  and  her  high 
spirit  which  suggested  both  the  disposition  and  the  capac- 


22  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ity  to  make  the  world  her  football.  Priscilla,  on  her  side, 
was  fascinated  by  her  mother's  optimism  and  practical 
sense.  In  shaking  off  the  dust  of  Cambridge  from  her 
shoes  and  in  establishing  herself  for  the  time  being  under 
the  shelter  of  these  new  household  gods,  Priscilla  believed 
also  that  she  was  completing  her  emancipation  from  the 
associations  of  her  girlhood — associations  against  the 
spirit  of  which  she  had  protested  since  she  had  first  begun 
to  reason;  a  spirit  which,  in  spite  of  her  struggles  and  her 
detestation  of  its  workings,  still  seemed  at  times  to  hold  her 
in  its  grip  and  compel  her  against  her  will  to  say  and  do 
things  utterly  at  variance  with  her  own  philosophy.  She 
had  been  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  introspection 
and  repression.  She  had  been  taught  that  it  was  fine  and 
essential  to  finger  one's  happiness  and  ask  questions  about 
it  instead  of  letting  oneself  go  and  taking  what  life  had  to 
give.  The  habitual  attitude  of  her  father  and  of  all  his 
friends  had  seemed  to  her  that  of  criticism,  shy  restraint, 
and  self  scrutiny.  Early  in  their  intimacy  she  had  con 
fided  to  her  step-sister : 

"I'm  not  like  that,  and  I  don't  wish  to  be.  When  I  was 
sixteen  years  old,  Lor  a,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  didn't 
intend  to  grow  up  dowdy  and  to  poke  along  the  streets  as 
though  my  body  were  merely  a  sackcloth  for  my  learned 
mind  and  my  mind  a — a  distillery  for  doubts  as  to  whether 
anything  is  worth  while.  I  don't  mean  to  be  afraid  or 
ashamed  to  show  my  feelings  and  to  remember  that  the 
blood  in  my  veins  is  red.  What  the  world  needs — our 
generation  at  least — is  people  who  will  do  things  with  all 
their  might,  not  dream  about  or  cavil  at  them." 

She  felt  sure,  moreover,  that  she  was  not  peculiar  in  fos 
tering  this  creed  of  healthy-mindedness.  The  air  was  full 
of  it.  In  the  freemasonry  of  youth  a  single  phrase  or  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  23 

slightest  act  suffices  to  reveal  affinity  of  thought,  and 
she  rejoiced  at  the  discovery  on  every  side  of  men  and 
women  of  her  own  age  who  derived  their  inspiration  from 
the  thrill  of  a  similar  revolt;  who  believed  with  her  that 
morbid  introspection  was  a  mildew  eating  at  the  heart  of 
life. 

Under  the  influence  of  this  ambition,  she  had  grown  up 
frank  and  impulsive;  and  nature  had  played  the  part  of 
an  accessory  to  her  purpose  in  providing  the  tall,  shapely 
figure  and  handsome  face  of  which  she  was  resolved  to 
make  the  most.  On  the  streets  of  Cambridge  she  had,  in 
deed,  almost  the  air  of  a  young  Amazon,  if  only  by  way  of 
contrast  to  most  of  her  companions,  and,  though  her 
father's  marriage  had  taken  place  when  she  was  only  just 
eighteen,  the  discerning  eye  of  the  Harvard  student  had 
already  singled  her  out  as  a  coming  belle.  But  the  act  of 
transplantation  meant  new  life  to  her.  It  was  no  case  of 
being  pulled  up  by  the  roots,  but  of  reaching  out  for  a 
more  congenial  soil  and  wider  horizon.  Militant  as  she 
was,  she  recognized  that  Cambridge  was  no  Jericho,  the 
walls  of  which  would  fall  at  the  sound  of  a  trumpet.  On 
the  contrary,  she  was  conscious  that  the  members  of  the 
earnest  but  undemonstrative  circle  to  which  her  father 
belonged  looked  at  her  a  little  askance  and  were  disposed, 
when  pressed,  to  criticise  her  as  forth-putting,  emotional, 
and  too  positive.  Moreover,  that  the  way  she  carried  her 
self  and  the  somewhat  picturesque  clothes  she  wore  en 
couraged  surmises  as  to  whether  she  was  serious-minded. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  this  was  in  the  early  eighties. 
Now  it  is  said  that  Cambridge  has  even  its  fast  set.  But 
in  those  days  it  seemed  to  Priscilla  that  all  her  elders  re 
garded  life  from  a  subjective  point  of  view  which  imposed 
primness  as  a  cardinal  virtue  on  the  rising  generation, 


24  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

most  of  whom  lacked  the  courage,  if  they  possessed  the 
inclination,  to  throw  off  the  yoke. 

Priscilla  had  her  own  ideas,  too,  regarding  Boston.  It 
was  only  across  the  bridge;  therefore,  while  she  rejoiced 
at  the  change  to  a  larger  sphere,  she  had  no  expectation  of 
being  received  with  open  arms.  Some  of  the  undemon 
strative  Cambridge  friends  of  her  father  were  more  or  less 
closely  related  to  the  people  who  lived  on  the  water  side  of 
Beacon  Street — the  backs  of  whose  houses  formed  a  sort 
of  sky  line  to  a  critical  view  from  the  University.  These 
Boston  people  dressed  better  and  had  the  reputation  of 
being  haughty,  yet  were  they  not  essentially  one  with  those 
she  was  leaving  behind?  Such  was  Priscilla's  conviction 
gathered  from  many  straws.  There  might  be  differences 
of  administration,  but  her  experience  had  already  in  store 
various  evidences  of  the  same  spirit.  It  was  the  New 
England  cast  of  thought  which  she  abhorred  as  opposed 
to  the  new  gospel  which  she  carried  in  her  bosom,  and  in 
crossing  the  bridge  she  understood  that  she  was  merely 
transferring  her  residence  from  one  hotbed  to  another. 
Yet  with  this  distinction.  Boston  was  a  great  city  and  had 
always  been  the  battleground  of  reforms.  If  its  walls 
would  not  fall  at  the  sound  of  the  trumpet  of  Israel,  at  least 
she  would  be  sure  to  find  champions  for  a  worthy  and 
stimulating  cause.  The  residents  on  the  Back  Bay  might 
not  choose  to  listen,  but  she  had  no  doubt  of  meeting  many 
who  would. 

Glad  as  she  was  to  move  to  Boston,  and  certain  as  she 
was  what  she  wished  to  do  in  the  abstract,  Priscilla  had 
felt  less  clear  concerning  the  immediate  future.  The  lines 
along  which  she  wished  to  develop  were  perfectly  distinct 
to  her  mind,  but  the  opportunities  for  action  were  not  so 
obvious.  For  the  moment  the  new  house  on  Dartmouth 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  25 

Street  afforded  an  attractive  shelter,  but  her  strongest 
desire  was  to  cease  to  be  a  source  of  expense  to  her  father, 
especially  as  this  would  now  be  equivalent  to  living  on  the 
bounty  of  her  step-mother.  She  intended  to  be  married 
some  day.  Indeed  her  attitude  toward  love  was  a  part  of 
her  protest  against  introspection.  She  had  faith  in  her 
own  capacity  for  passion,  and  she  meant,  when  the  time 
came,  to  put  to  shame  those  who,  through  coldness  of  na 
ture  or  lack  of  vitality,  paraded  it  as  a  starveling  emotion. 
But  until  the  time  came  she  knew  that  a  refined  maiden 
must  thrust  into  the  background  of  her  consciousness 
everything  on  this  score  but  hope  and  the  ideal  creatures 
of  her  fancy.  Her  perfect  knight  might  not  present  him 
self  to  woo  for  another  five  years,  and  meanwhile  she  must 
go  her  way  as  though  men  did  not  exist  or  were  all  the 
same  to  her. 

This  would  have  been  easier  had  she  been  more  certain 
that  she  possessed  talent  as  an  artist.  Her  ambition  was 
to  support  herself  by  painting  portraits  which  would  win 
her  fame  and  a  competency.  She  had  been  clever  with  her 
pencil  since  earliest  childhood,  and  this  proficiency  had 
been  encouraged  by  regular  instruction.  But  was  the  gift 
more  than  a  pretty  accomplishment?  Here  was  one  of 
the  instances  where  her  bringing  up  or  heredity,  whichever 
was  responsible,  was  to  blame.  But  for  the  critical  faculty 
working  within  her,  she  would  have  thrown  herself  into  her 
work  and  never  questioned  the  outcome.  To  have  com 
plete  faith  was  half  the  battle;  and  she  chafed  to  feel  that, 
notwithstanding  her  ardor,  she  was  haunted  by  the  spirit 
of  doubt.  Why  had  she  been  born  with  this  imp  in  her 
bosom  which  persisted  in  thrusting  forth  his  ugly  head 
just  at  the  moment  when,  lulled  into  confidence,  she  was 
on  the  point  of  believing  herself  a  genius  ? 


26  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

So,  while  she  worked  indefatigably  at  the  art  school,  she 
asked  herself  from  time  to  time  what  she  should  do  in 
case  she  proved  a  failure  as  a  portrait  painter.  For, 
though  it  angered  her  to  feel  that  she  distrusted  her  own 
powers,  she  comforted  herself  with  the  thought  that  there 
was  no  justification  for  poor  art.  To  be  other  than  in  the 
first  or  second  rank  would  offend  her  ideas  of  making  the 
most  of  life  from  a  practical  standpoint.  In  case  of  disap 
pointment  her  recourse  would  be  to  choose  from  the  mod 
ern  occupations  open  to  women — nursing,  teaching,  or  some 
kindred  employment,  and  to  throw  herself  into  it  with  all 
her  soul. 

At  just  this  time,  during  the  first  year  after  her  father's 
marriage,  she  had  attended  the  Artists'  Festival.  This  was 
one  of  the  first  of  those  gay  pageants  given  from  time  to 
time  in  Boston  by  means  of  which  the  art  students  seek  to 
clothe  the  world  for  a  night  in  the  garb  of  a  picturesque 
past.  Subsequently  these  took  place  for  a  while  in  the 
Art  Museum,  but  in  the  beginning  a  private  studio  in  the 
rear  of  that  building  was  dedicated  to  the  purpose — almost 
opposite  Mrs.  Avery's  house.  On  this  occasion  the  fantasy 
selected  was  "Lalla  Rookh,  the  lovely  Princess  of  Delhi," 
who,  on  her  long  journey  to  become  a  bride,  was  beguiled 
by  and  fell  in  love  with  the  poet  Feramorz,  only  to  find  in 
him  at  last  the  King  whose  throne  she  was  to  share.  Amid 
the  throng  of  fire  worshippers,  fair  maidens  from  the  Vale 
of  Cashmere,  and  other  varieties  of  Eastern  loveliness, 
Priscilla  and  Lora  figured  as  a  peri  and  a  houri  respec 
tively.  Priscilla's  choice  was  made  on  the  spur  of  the  mo 
ment.  "I'll  be  a  peri,"  she  cried  impetuously,  remem 
bering  the  couplet  which  runs : 

"One  morn  a  peri  at  the  gate 
Of  Eden  stood  disconsolate." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  27 

"What  is  a  peri?"  asked  the  practical  Lora. 

"I  don't  know  exactly,  but  I  like  the  sound.  I  intend 
to  go  as  one,  whatever  she  is." 

The  discovery  that  peris  were  the  offspring  of  fallen 
angels  did  not  alter  her  determination.  Nor  did  it  cause 
her  to  adopt  a  crestfallen  demeanor  on  the  night  of  the 
festival.  As  Lora,  who  had  been  looking  up  peris  in  par 
ticular  and  Eastern  heroines  in  general,  remarked,  she 
resembled  rather  the  proud  daughter  of  a  rebellious  Ca 
liph.  In  truth,  under  the  spell  of  the  occasion,  the  spirit 
of  the  East  had  entered  into  Priscilla's  soul.  She  could 
not  help  being  herself  whatever  her  impersonation,  but, 
as  they  entered  the  transformed  studio,  her  imagination, 
aglow  with  the  luscious  imagery  and  romantic  sentiment 
of  Moore's  poem,  entertained  a  vision  of  what  love  might 
be — love  outside  of  New  England.  She  pictured  herself 
some  daughter  of  Araby  or  dark-haired  Sultana  listening 
for  the  forbidden  footsteps  of  her  lover,  or,  clasped  in  his 
ardent  embrace,  whispering  sweet  secrets  to  the  music  of 
the  bulbuls.  Then  as  she  yielded  herself  to  the  glamour  of 
her  dream,  she  half  believed  that  it  was  true — or,  at  least, 
that  its  complete  and  unfaltering  rapture  might  prove  an 
experience  even  in  her  own  clime. 

While  thus  exalted,  she  became  aware  that  a  young 
man,  evidently  a  poet  from  his  attire — besides,  he  carried 
a  lute — was  gazing  at  her  with  undisguised  admiration. 
There  was  something  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes  which 
brought  comfort  to  her  belief.  They  suggested  a  soul  fear 
lessly  eager  to  express  itself,  and  which  was  centred  for  the 
moment  on  her  alone.  His  thin,  refined  face  indicated 
gentility  and  some  pride.  His  nose  was  prominent  and 
his  cheek  bones  showed  under  his  high  Tartarian  cap,  but 
any  effect  of  austerity  was  neutralized  by  his  animated 


28  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

glances  and  oriental  costume.  His  vest,  made  of  cloth 
from  shawl  goats,  was  confined  by  a  flowered  girdle  over 
which  hung  strings  of  pearl,  and  on  his  feet  were  em 
broidered  sandals. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  presently  he  had  spoken  to  her — 
without  an  introduction,  and  in  Boston.  Did  this  mean 
that  he,  like  herself,  had  dismissed  for  this  evening  all 
knowledge  of  conventions  and  was  ready  to  let  himself  go  ? 
It  almost  seemed  so,  such  was  his  fervor  and  devotion. 
He  never  left  her  side,  and  though  they  talked  gay  badi 
nage,  his  every  word  breathed  the  character  of  his  disguise 
— that  of  a  lover  seeking  his  soul's  idol.  His  name,  he  said, 
was  Hafiz,  and  he  had  poetry  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  the 
burning  lines  of  Lalla  Rookh,  wherewith  to  proclaim  his 
heart  hunger  for  the  peri  of  his  choice. 

Hafiz  brought  her  cooling  ices  at  the  proper  moment, 
and  secured,  by  what  seemed  to  Priscilla  the  display  of 
consummate  tact,  the  only  nook  in  the  studio  where 
two  could  avoid  interruption.  From  passionate  sym 
bols  of  the  East,  which  became  monotonous  after  a 
while,  they  turned  presently  to  new  world  philosophy, 
though  neither  chose  to  break  the  charm  of  the  hour  by 
divulging  a  single  clue  to  identity.  Hafiz  announced  his 
allegiance  to  the  ideal,  and  his  sympathy  with  those  ready 
to  sacrifice  life  for  a  great  principle — the  Knights  of  Ar 
thur's  Round  Table,  the  Crusaders,  the  heroes  who  had 
fallen  in  the  Civil  War.  His  voice  trembled  as  he  referred 
impersonally  to  these  last;  it  was  plain  that  he  had 
precious  associations  with  their  valor.  "Let  us  stand  for 
truth  in  spite  of  the  world!"  he  asserted  with  the  mien  of 
one  blowing  a  bugle  call. 

The  peri  echoed  his  conviction,  yet  she  chose  to  add :  "  Yes, 
but  to  act,  not  to  dream;  action — action — is  what  I  adore." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  29 

Then,  because  it  was  late  and  most  of  the  guests  were 
already  gone,  the  peri  left  her  corner  and  bade  Hafiz  wait 
while  she  obtained  her  cloak.  She  was  still  under  the  spell 
of  the  East,  and  her  spirit  was  skipping  like  a  young  ga 
zelle.  Lor  a,  the  houri,  was  also  putting  on  her  wraps,  but 
without  a  word  to  her  she  rejoined  her  poet  and  said 
merely,  "Come."  She  led  the  way  down-stairs  and 
paused  a  moment  on  the  brink  of  the  night.  It  was  dark 
and  raining;  from  where  they  stood  they  could  see  the 
glistening  pavements  and  the  moist  rubber  garments  of 
the  waiting  cabmen.  Priscilla's  heart  bounded  at  this 
complicity  of  the  elements.  She  heard  with  joy  her  com 
panion  ask: 

"What  is  the  number  of  your  carriage?"  It  was  an 
anxious  tone,  as  though  at  contact  with  everyday  reality 
the  ardent,  spontaneous  Hafiz  was  fading  away  like 
a  ghost  at  cock  crow. 

"  I  have  no  carriage.    Will  you  escort  me  home  ?  " 

"Certainly."  Hafiz  hesitated  a  scarcely  perceptible  in 
stant,  yet  it  was  hesitation,  as  though  some  scruple  held 
him  back.  "Where  do  you  live?  But  do  let  me  try  to 
borrow  an  umbrella,  Miss— 

Priscilla  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  afraid  of 
wetting  his  feet,  and  she  glanced  at  his  embroidered  sandals. 

"Steal  one  for  yourself — but  peris  are  not  accustomed 
to  umbrellas.  For  all  you  know,  I  live  at  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  Are  you  coming  ?  " 

"Yes,  indeed.  But  will  you  wait  one  moment,"  he 
asked  imploringly,  "while  I  speak  to  my  sister.  I  brought 
her  here,  and  she  will  not  know— 

"In  the  magic  East,  the  land  of  true  love,  sisters  count 
for  nothing;  nor  are  there  New  England  consciences." 

She  threw  the  words  tauntingly  over  her  shoulder,  and 


30  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

sprang  down  past  the  amazed  cabmen  into  the  darkness. 
Across  the  street  she  sped  like  a  gazelle,  spurred  on  by 
laughing  disdain,  and  wondering  if  he  would  follow.  In 
another  moment  she  realized  that  he  was  at  her  heels  and 
running  with  all  his  might.  She  flew  up  the  steps  of  her 
house  into  the  vestibule  and  bolted  the  outer  door.  As 
she  did  so  the  shadow  of  his  figure  shut  out  the  light  of  the 
street  and  she  saw  his  face  silhouetted  against  the  glass  as 
he  tried  the  knob. 

"  Forgive  me,  forgive  me,"  he  cried. 

"Too  late,  too  late.  You  are  no  Hafiz,  but  an  im 
postor." 

This  time  it  was  not  the  peri  who  stood  disconsolate  at 
the  gate  of  Eden. 

As  he  rattled  the  door  in  vain,  she  heard  him  murmur 
with  a  groan:  "This  comes  of  being  a  Boston  man!" 

His  confession  was  the  echo  of  her  own  thought.  Why 
should  she  be  merciful?  Had  he  not  failed  her  at  the 
critical  moment  and,  by  his  mousy  behavior,  ruined  the 
fabric  of  her  dream  ?  His  sister,  indeed !  How  exactly  like 
a  Boston  man!  She  turned  her  latch-key  noiselessly  and 
slipped  inside. 

This  had  happened  more  than  six  months  ago  and  he 
was  the  man  whom  now  they  were  trying  to  persuade  her 
that  she  ought  to  marry.  Subsequent  events  had  served 
to  disclose  that  his  true  name  was  Henry  Chippendale 
Sumner,  and  that  he  lived  on  the  water  side  of  Beacon 
Street. 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  31 


CHAPTER  m 

PROFESSOR  PATON  took  advantage  of  the  moment  when 
every  one  else  was  tasting  the  soup  to  reintroduce  his 
hobby. 

"  Just  to  show  how  everything  is  turned  topsy  turvy  out 
there,  what  do  you  think  of  this?"  Then  realizing  that  it 
was  incumbent  on  him  to  make  his  example  lucid  to  the 
only  stranger  at  table  he  addressed  Blaisdell.  "  There's 
a  young  man  in  the  Senior  class  at  Harvard  named  Chip 
pendale — Chauncey  Chippendale.  He's  one  of  the 
Brahmin  caste  of  Boston,  which  means— 

The  difficulty  of  expressing  so  much  concisely  caused 
the  professor  to  weigh  his  words  for  an  instant,  and  Mr. 
Drake  suggested: 

"That  he  lives  on  the  sunny  side  of  Commonwealth 
Avenue." 

"That  will  identify  him  sufficiently  for  the  moment. 
Out  there  he  happens  to  be  one  of  the  most  popular  men 
in  college,  which,  I  admit,  doesn't  necessarily  depend  on 
ancestry  even  in  these  degenerate  days.  He  was  in  the 
first  ten  of  the  'Institute'  and  of  the  'Pudding,'  he  plays 
quarter  back  on  the  football  team,  and  he  has  systemati 
cally  maintained  a  dead  level  of  inferior  scholarship,  just 
sufficient  to  pull  him  through  his  examinations  by  the 
skin  of  his  teeth.  Now  this  young  man  happens  to  have 
a  cousin  named  Henry  Sumner,  a  capital  Greek  scholar, 
who " 

"Lives  on  the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street,"  interjected 
Mr.  Drake. 

"And  whom  we  hope  to  see  here  this  evening,"  said 


32  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Lora,  with  a  gleeful  side  glance  at  Priscilla,  which  Blais- 
dell  did  not  fail  to  observe. 

Mr.  Paton  chose  to  disregard  these  additional  prompt 
ings  which  were  not  essential  to  his  narrative.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  he  was  well  aware  that  he  had  a  more  or  less 
formidable  rival  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Avery  in  the  young 
man  whose  name  he  had  just  introduced,  but  he  could  be 
impersonal  where  a  matter  of  principle  was  concerned. 
"Who  has  sympathy  with  scholarship,  and  who  is,  besides, 
sufficiently  muscular  and  popular.  He's  well  up  on  the 
rank  list,  and  would  seem  to  be  the  natural  choice  of  any 
sane  man  looking  for  a  capable  assistant.  Now  what 
happens  ?  A  fortnight  ago  General  Horatio  Langdon,  the 
banker,  sent  for  Chauncey  Chippendale  and  offered,  out 
of  a  clear  sky,  to  keep  a  position  for  him  in  his  office  until 
he  graduates.  And  why,  ye  gods  and  little  fishes,  why? 
Because  of  that  run  which  he  made  in  the  recent  game 
with  Yale.  Ergo,  idleness  plus  football  is  the  recipe  for 
commercial  preferment  in  Puritan  Massachusetts." 

"Wasn't  it  magnificent  1"  exclaimed  Priscilla. 

"But  for  him  Harvard  wouldn't  have  scored!'  said 
Lora. 

"I  can  see  him  now,"  continued  Priscilla,  "slip  round 
the  end  and  tear  down  the  field  with  three  monsters  at  his 
heels  trying  to  catch  him,  with  everybody  on  the  Harvard 
benches  shouting  like  mad — and  then  when  he  hurdled  the 
full-back  and  made  a  touchdown — it  was  just  grand- 
grand,  because  he  really  did  it  and  didn't  fumble  or  throw 
away  his  opportunity.  I  think  General  Langdon  was  en 
tirely  right." 

Blaisdell  had  pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  first  allusion  to 
the  banker.  It  was  clear  now  why  there  had  been  no 
room  for  him  in  that  office,  and  he  felt  a  mild  curiosity 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  33 

concerning  the  athletic  hero  for  whom  a  berth  was  being 
kept  warm.  Intercollegiate  contests  were  infrequent  at 
his  own  college.  He  had  played  foot-ball  occasionally, 
but  he  had  never  been  on  the  eleven.  The  enthusiasm  of 
the  two  girls  entertained  him  and  was  convincing. 

"I  would  have  liked  to  see  it,"  he  asserted,  as  Priscilla 
finished  her  enthusiastic  description,  and  he  nodded  at 
Professor  Paton  in  a  manner  which  indicated  where  his 
sympathies  lay. 

"But  they  say  he  was  offside,"  said  Mr.  Paton. 

"What  a  shame!"  cried  Lora.  "No  one  thinks  so,  and 
the  umpire  decided  at  the  time  that  he  wasn't." 

"The  umpire  admits  that  he  wasn't  looking,  and  I  have 
the  best  of  reasons  for  believing  that  Chauncey  Chippen 
dale  took  the  chance— the  chance  of  not  being  detected." 

"  But  the  umpire  ought  to  have  been  looking,"  said  Mrs. 
Avery.  "And  if  he  wasn't  looking— that's  a  dreadful 
thing  to  say." 

"Who  was  it  told  you  that  he  played  unfairly?"  asked 
Priscilla  with  a  frown.  It  was  manifest  that  she  thought 
she  knew,  and  that  she  put  the  charge  thus  bluntly  in 
order  to  emphasize  her  disbelief  in  it. 

"Some  one  who  had  a  good  opportunity  to  observe." 
Mr.  Paton  spoke  self-consciously,  as  though  he  understood 
what  was  working  in  her  mind. 

"  I  imagine  I  know  who,  and  it's  just  like  him.  He  may 
be  a  capital  Greek  scholar,  but  that's  no  reason  why  he 
should  disparage  such  a  splendid— 

Lora's  amused  laugh  kept  pace  with  this  innuendo, 
while  Mrs.  Avery  hastened  solicitously  to  cut  it  short: 
"But,  Priscilla,  why  jump  to  such  a  hasty  conclusion? 
Professor  Paton  didn't  mention  any  names." 

"On  the  contrary,  a  lot  of  people  are  saying  it  under 


34  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

their  breath,"  volunteered  Mr.  Paton,  "though  most  of 
them  are  rejoicing." 

"That  he  wasn't  found  out?  That's  the  way  I  feel," 
said  Lora,  clapping  her  hands.  "I'm  just  thankful  the 
umpire  didn't  see  him." 

"So  am  I,"  said  her  mother. 

"And  I,"  said  Mr.  Drake.  "Because  if  he  had,  the 
coaches  wouldn't  be  able  to  maintain  the  fiction  that  they 
never  give  secret  instructions  to  slug  and  break  the  rules — 
if  no  one  is  looking.  Butter  wouldn't  melt  in  the  mouths 
of  some  of  those  coaches." 

"Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Paton.  "There's  the  truth  in  a 
nutshell.  It's  anything  in  order  to  win." 

"But  what's  the  proof  that  he  did  it?  I  don't  believe 
that  he  did  it,"  said  Priscilla,  emphatically.  "Yale  made 
the  claim  at  the  time  and  it  wasn't  allowed.  So  why 
shouldn't  loyal  Harvard  men  give  him  at  least  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt?  It  was  a  glorious  run — a  magnificent  ex 
hibition  of  agility  and  endurance.  Why,  then,  should 
people  with  no  special  qualifications  for  expressing  an 
opinion  prefer  to  take  all  the  glory  out  of  it?  Mr.  Paton 
didn't  see  the  game  and  we  did.  I'll  leave  it  to  father,  even, 
if  we're  not  bound  to  take  the  hopeful  view  under  the  cir 
cumstances." 

Mr.  Avery  put  down  his  spoon  and  looked  at  his  daugh 
ter  with  a  gentle  smile.  "  If  I  were  a  judge  I  should  feel  it 
my  duty  to  acquit  the  defendant  on  the  evidence.  But," 
he  added,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  I  know  that  you  are 
always  in  search  of  the  real  truth,  my  dear,  whatever  you 
may  allege  to  the  contrary.  An  easy  way  to  ascertain  that 
would  be  to  ask  the  young  man  himself." 

"Ask  him.  He's  well  coached.  Never  fear,"  cried  Mr. 
Drake. 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  35 

Priscilla  liked  Morgan  Drake.  He  had  saturnine  tend 
encies,  but  she  knew  he  was  honest.  He  had  a  lively  way 
of  getting  at  the  root  of  things  which,  though  at  odds  with 
her  philosophy,  was  dignified  by  his  own  artistic  devotion 
to  his  work.  His  present  insinuation  did  not  shake  her 
faith,  but  it  caused  her  instinctively  to  seek  support  else 
where. 

"  You  haven't  told  us  yet  what  you  think,  Mr.  Blaisdell. 
Am  I  not  right?" 

Fond  as  Blaisdell  was  of  holding  the  floor,  he  had  been 
content  to  listen  to  the  discussion  and  thus  take  advantage 
of  the  opportunity  to  observe  the  members  of  the  family 
circle  to  which  he  had  been  admitted.  Since  his  last  re 
mark  a  pleasant,  half  humorous  smile  had  lingered  on  his 
lips,  affording  to  Priscilla,  as  she  addressed  him,  a  confi 
dent  hope  that  his  point  of  view  would  be  vindicating  or  at 
least  lenient.  Her  appeal  was  made  to  him  just  as  he  had 
begun  to  be  conscious  that  he  had  remained  silent  long 
enough.  He  replied  without  hesitation;  the  words  seemed 
to  flow  from  the  tip  of  his  tongue  as  if  inspired  by  confi 
dent  conviction,  and  they  were  uttered,  moreover,  in  a  dis 
tinct,  compelling  voice  which  was  hearty  rather  than  me 
lodious.  Its  cheerful,  persuasive  quality  was  no  less 
adapted  to  banish  doubt  than  is  a  west  wind  to  dispel  an 
ocean  fog. 

"I  don't  see  the  justice  of  trying  to  convict  a  man  when 
the  natural  interpretation  is  altogether  different.  I've 
played  football  enough  to  know  how  excited  one  gets, 
and,  as  I  look  at  it,  what  really  happened  was  this:  Chip 
pendale,  if  that's  his  name,  may  possibly,  in  the  heat  of 
the  game — possibly,  I  say — have  been  offside.  But,  if  so, 
what  reason  is  there  for  thinking  that  he  was  there  delib 
erately  ?  And  granting,  as  in  all  fairness  we  are  bound  to, 


36  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

that  it  was  an  accident — then  it  was  the  umpire's  business 
to  see  him;  and  all  supporters  of  Harvard  ought  to  pat 
him  on  the  back,  and  cry,  'noble  work,  old  fellow.'  It 
must,  from  all  accounts,  have  been  a  star  play,  and  other 
things  being  equal,  it  seems  tough  that  he  shouldn't  get 
full  credit  for  his  brilliancy." 

A  murmur  of  approval  ran  round  the  table.  The  plau 
sible  enthusiasm  of  the  speech  caused  Mr.  Avery  to  look 
at  him  with  new  interest,  and  Morgan  Drake  to  grin  by 
way  of  tribute  to  what  he  denned  to  himself  as  its  devilish 
ingenuity.  As  for  Mrs.  Avery,  she  sighed  from  joyful 
relief  that  all  troublesome  doubts  had  been  suddenly  swept 
from  the  room  by  a  major  force. 

"  There's  nothing  else  left  to  say  that  I  can  see,"  she 
asserted  radiantly.  "It  was  an  accident  plain  as  can  be." 

"  Of  course,  I  can't  prove  that  it  wasn't,"  Professor  Paton 
felt  constrained  to  admit.  He  realized  that  he  was  worsted, 
and  he  turned  in  his  chair  to  obtain  a  better  view  of  the 
antagonist  whose  obvious  ability  was  not  lost  on  him. 

Priscilla  looked,  as  she  felt,  triumphant.  "Thank  you 
very  much  for  coming  to  my  aid,"  she  said  to  her  champion. 

"I  thought  you  were  getting  on  very  well  as  it  was," 
Blaisdell  answered.  In  spite  of  her  beauty,  it  struck  him 
that  she  had  taken  the  whole  matter  too  seriously — at 
least  for  a  woman.  Lora's  attitude  on  the  subject  was 
much  more  to  his  taste.  Though  he  had  answered  Pris- 
cilla's  appeal,  it  was  really  her  sister's  cause  which  he  was 
advocating.  Realization  of  this  led  him  to  add  genially, 
"But  I  was  quite  content  to  take  my  stand  on  Miss  Bur- 
roughs's  platform — one  of  thankfulness  that  the  umpire 
didn't  see  him." 

This  robust  statement  was  the  occasion  of  more  merri 
ment,  after  which  the  topic  was  dismissed.  But  the  dinner 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  37 

proceeded  gaily.  Every  one  felt  that  the  new  boarder  was 
an  unusual  person  and  an  interesting  addition  to  the  house 
hold.  When  the  ladies  left  the  table,  the  men  went  to 
smoke  in  Mr.  Avery's  "den" — which  was  in  the  rear  of 
the  dining-room — small  and  overflowing  with  old  books 
and  pamphlets.  The  furniture,  covered  with  faded  green 
rep,  was  from  the  drawing-room  of  the  Cambridge  house. 
Mr.  A  very  lighted  the  coal  fire  in  the  small  grate,  and, 
while  it  was  being  coaxed  to  blaze  by  the  aid  of  a  blower, 
Professor  Paton,  standing  with  his  back  to  the  marble 
mantel-piece,  smoking  a  cigarette,  asked  his  host  if  he  had 
any  hopeful  information  to  impart  concerning  the  missing 
link. 

Mr.  Avery  shook  his  head,  but  replied,  "The  machine 
still  fails  to  work — to  do  what  I  claim  for  it;  and  that 
means  discouragement  so  far  as  my  friends  are  concerned. 
But  I'm  close  on  the  secret;  I  feel  sure  of  that;  and  may 
find  it  any  day." 

Blaisdell,  taking  for  granted  that  the  reference  was  to 
his  visionary  landlord's  invention,  inquired  what  the  ma 
chine  was  expected  to  do. 

"Manufacture  electricity  from  coal,"  said  Mr.  Avery 
simply. 

"A  splendid  proposition,  isn't  it?"  exclaimed  Professor 
Paton.  "If  it  can  be  done,  it  opens  a  grand  vista  scien 
tifically  and — er — commercially.  Suppose  the  energies 
of  the  coal,  instead  of  escaping  in  the  form  of  heat,"  he 
added,  indicating  by  a  tap  of  his  foot  on  the  handle  of  the 
blower  the  fire  which  had  begun  to  roar  up  the  chimney, 
"were  to  be  drawn  off  as  an  electric  current  and  made  to 
drive  engines  instead — just  think  of  the  saving  all  round. 
It  would  tend  to  revolutionize  modern  industries." 

"When  the  process  works  as  it  should,  the  blazing  coal 


38  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

will  be  practically  cold;  not  the  least  degree  of  heat  will  be 
given  out,"  explained  Mr.  A  very,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  at 
the  vision. 

"O,  who  can  hold  a  fire  in  his  hand 
By  thinking  on  the  frosty  Caucasus  ? " 

quoted  Mr.  Drake. 

" Exactly;  it  contradicts  contradiction.  Bravo!  Drake," 
cried  Professor  Paton,  while  Mr.  Avery  looked  pleased  by 
the  appositeness  of  the  Shakespearian  analogy  with  which 
he  was  evidently  familiar. 

"  That's  a  great  idea,  if  it  were  perfected— great.  There 
would  be  millions  in  it,  I  dare  say,"  said  Blaisdell  gra 
ciously.  But  his  inward  comment  was,  "I  guess  the  old 
man  is  a  little  doty."  He  was  interested  by  the  far-reach 
ing  consequences  of  the  conception,  but  its  very  boldness 
— proceeding  from  such  a  source — inclined  him  toward 
scepticism.  "How  long  have  you  been  working  on  it — the 
machine,  I  mean?"  he  inquired. 

"Fifteen  years." 

"Fifteen  years!"  Blaisdell  did  not  attempt  to  conceal 
his  amazement.  Fifteen  years  was  a  huge  slice  from  a  life 
time.  Surely  in  such  a  period  it  could  be  definitely  deter 
mined  whether  any  machine  would  work  or  not.  He  was 
more  than  suspicious  now  that  his  landlord  was  an  im 
practical  person.  Nevertheless,  his  amiability  prompted 
him  to  add,  "I'd  like  some  day  to  see  what  it  looks  like." 
He  knew  that  the  inventor  had  a  workshop  somewhere  in 
the  suburbs. 

"There's  not  much  to  see;  only  a  lot  of  jars  and  dyna 
mos,"  replied  Mr.  Avery  with  his  gentle,  deprecatory 
smile.  "It  must  be  worked  out  here" — and  he  touched 
his  forehead — "but  time  is  all  that  is  necessary;  time — 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  39 

and  a  little  more  money."  He  did  not  flinch  from  the  last 
word,  but  it  was  evidently  the  one  rueful  factor  in  the 
otherwise  serene  prospect. 

"Well,  we  must  form  a  company  and  boom  the  stock," 
asserted  Blaisdell.  "Stocks  are  my  business,  you  know. 
Going  to  be,  that  is." 

Mr.  Avery  shook  his  head.  He  could  scarcely  have 
thought  that  this  genial  capitalist  in  embryo  had  anything 
definite  in  view,  yet  he  evidently  desired  to  prevent  any 
misunderstanding  on  that  score,  for  he  said : 

"  My  patents — when  I  get  them — are  mortgaged  far  ahead. 
The  trouble  with  my  experiments  is  that  they  are  expen 
sive.  The  machines  are  intricate  to  build  and  rather 
massive." 

"Is  General  Langdon  still  favorably  disposed ?"  asked 
Professor  Paton,who  could  be  inquisitive  as  well  as  friendly. 

"  Oh,  yes.  That  is,  the  generous  man  doesn't  refuse  me 
when  I  have  to  apply  to  him.  But  it's  philanthropy,  not 
faith,  which  actuates  his  bounty.  He's  apt  to  be  jocose; 
I'm  one  of  his  right-handed  charities — which  he  doesn't 
let  his  left  hand — his  business  hand — know  about." 

"But  rumor  says  that  his  business  hand  generally  man 
ages  to  treble  or  quadruple  whatever  it  gets  its  clutch 
upon,"  said  Professor  Paton.  "That  is  one  of  the  penal 
ties — penalties  I  repeat" — and  he  tapped  the  blower 
again  with  his  foot,  "of  becoming  a  successful  banker." 

"Besides,  no  rich  Boston  man  ever  spends  more  than 
half  his  income,"  said  Morgan  Drake.  "That's  why 
they're  so  disgustingly  rich." 

Blaisdell  was  content  to  be  listening  again.  These  side 
lights  on  his  surroundings  were  both  illuminating  and  di 
verting.  He  set  down  the  poet's  sententious  remark  as 
pleasantry — a  bit  of  poetic  license.  But  he  was  interested 


40  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

to  hear  about  General  Langdon,  who  was  evidently  a  per 
sonage  of  greater  importance  than  he  had  supposed,  for  his 
name  seemed  to  be  cropping  up  everywhere.  It  was  ob 
vious,  too,  what  the  banker  thought  of  his  landlord's  efforts 
to  extract  electricity  from  coal. 

"But  I  intend  to  convince  him  yet,"  said  Mr.  Avery. 
"He  will  live  to  see " 

The  inventor's  prophecy  was  cut  short  by  the  blower, 
which,  loosened  by  the  energy  of  the  blaze  in  co-operation 
with  Mr.  Paton's  boot,  fell  clattering  on  the  hearth  to  the 
peril  of  the  professor's  legs.  But  Mr.  Paton  was  spry  and 
apparently  used  to  such  catastrophes,  for  he  promptly 
reached  for  the  tongs. 

"Live  to  see  all  that  fiery,  untamed  waste  material 
utilized,"  he  cried  as,  holding  at  arm's  length  the  no  longer 
prostrate  blower,  which  was  well-nigh  red  hot,  he  restored 
it  to  its  stand  beside  the  fireplace. 

Shortly  after  this  diversion  Blaisdell  heard  the  tinkle  of 
a  piano,  which,  perhaps,  was  a  signal  that  they  were  dally 
ing  too  long,  for  Mr.  Avery  almost  immediately  extin 
guished  his  pipe  and  suggested  that  they  should  join  the 
ladies.  As  Blaisdell  entered  the  parlor  his  eyes  encoun 
tered  those  of  Lora  across  the  room.  It  was  she  who  was 
at  the  piano  and  she  was  just  about  to  sing.  Indeed,  as  he 
stood  in  the  doorway  her  fingers  struck  the  keys,  playing 
a  jaunty  air— a  saucy  air,  to  judge  from  the  expression  of 
her  face — and  she  seemed  to  look  straight  at  him. 

"Young  man,  despair, 
Likewise  go  to, 
Yum  Yum  the  fair 
You  must  not  woo. 
It  will  not  do: 
I'm  sorry  for  you " 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  41 

This  was  what  she  flung  at  him  gaily,  bewitchingly,  and 
laughed— that  same  bubbling  laugh.  Was  she  making 
sport  of  him  again  ? 

"It  will  not  do: 
I'm  sorry  for  you." 

Why  should  she  single  him  out  ?  What  was  she  trying  to 
do?  Blaisdell  was  conscious  of  feeling  a  little  hot,  but 
both  his  fancy  and  curiosity  were  stimulated.  Was  he  to 
quail  before  a  pretty  girl  with  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair 
merely  because  she  chose,  for  some  unaccountable  reason, 
to  amuse  herself  at  his  expense  ?  Surely  not,  and  by  way 
of  fortifying  himself  in  his  own  esteem  on  this  score,  he 
looked  back  at  her  unflinchingly,  yet  without  disguising  the 
admiration  which  she  had  aroused.  Then  as  he  stood  his 
ground,  it  was  her  glance  which  suddenly  dropped  to  the 
keyboard — the  second  time,  as  he  remembered  that  she 
had  abandoned  the  field  in  the  moment  of  victory.  But 
there  was  this  to  be  said,  the  song  was  over. 

His  brain  swimming,  Blaisdell,  joining  eagerly  in  the 
applause,  watched  her  as  she  rose  from  the  piano  stool  and 
began  to  talk  to  those  nearest  her.  Several  guests  had  ar 
rived,  and  there  appeared  to  be  a  difference  of  opinion  as 
to  what  she  should  sing  next.  He  knew  little  about  music, 
but  the  alluring  rhythm  of  the  selection  to  which  he  had 
just  listened  lingered  in  his  ears,  and  he  was  eager  for  more. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  joining  the  disputants,  which  already 
included  Morgan  Drake  and  Professor  Paton,  when  of  a 
sudden  he  became  aware  that  Mrs.  Avery  had  snatched 
a  smoking  candle  from  the  piano  and  was  hastening  toward 
him.  Instinctively  he  opened  the  door  for  her  and  fol 
lowed  her  into  the  hall  where  she  instantly  broke  into  reso 
nant  laughter  as  the  result  of  having  nearly  collided  with 


42  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

one  of  her  guests,  a  young  man  whom  the  maid  had  just 
let  in. 

"Why,  Mr.  Sumner,"  she  cried,  "we  hoped  you  might 
come  to-night.  I  dote  on  informality,  as  you  know,  so  I'm 
on  the  way  to  snuff  this  candle  while  the  others  are  choosing 
the  next  song.  Leave  your  things  in  the  'den,'  as  usual." 

While,  notwithstanding  her  pose  was  that  of  a  flying 
Mercury,  she  thus  accorded  an  exuberant  welcome  to  this 
newcomer,  Blaisdell  had  a  chance  to  observe  that  the  visi 
tor  was  very  polite  and  rather  agitated,  as  though  his  nar 
row  escape  from  having  been  run  down  by  his  hostess  had 
upset  him  a  little.  He  was  of  good  height  with  a  spare 
figure.  His  thin,  sensitive  face  was  dignified  by  a  large 
nose  and  prominent  cheek  bones  which  suggested  that  he 
did  not  eat  enough.  His  expression  in  his  sober  moments 
—while  he  was  endeavoring  to  apologize  to  Mrs.  Avery — 
was  not  unlike  that  of  an  observant  eagle,  keen  and  a  trifle 
austere.  But  when  it  lighted  up  under  the  influence  of  her 
confidential  welcome,  the  ardor  of  his  eyes  became  quizzi 
cal  and  the  lines  of  his  thin-lipped  and  rather  ascetic 
mouth  broke  into  a  pleasant  discerning  smile.  While  he 
talked  he  toyed  nervously  with  his  soft,  circular,  gray,  felt 
hat,  which,  clutched  in  his  hand,  looked  not  unlike  a 
damaged  squirrel  skin. 

"That,"  said  Mrs.  Avery  to  Blaisdell,  when  they  were 
in  the  dining-room,  "is  Mr.  Sumner — Mr.  Henry  Chip 
pendale  Sumner;  a  first  cousin,  by  the  way,  of  the  Mr. 
Chippendale  we  were  talking  of  at  dinner.  Since  you're 
one  of  the  family,"  she  added  in  a  whisper  as  she  snuffed 
the  candle,  "and  sure  to  discover  it  for  yourself,  I'll  con 
fide  to  you  that  he  and  Priscilla  are  great  friends.  He 
comes  here  to  see  her.  He  belongs  to  one  of  the  first  fami 
lies  in  Boston." 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  43 

"Lives  on  the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street?" 
Mrs.  Avery  gathered  from  this  inquiry  merely  that  her 
boarder  was  quick-witted.  "Yes,  between  Berkeley  and 
Clarendon;  one  of  the  small  brownstone  houses  with 
ampelopsis  running  over  it.  His  mother  is  a  widow — his 
father  was  killed  in  the  war  at  the  head  of  his  regiment, 
colored  troops — and  he  has  two  sisters." 

"My  father  was  killed  in  the  Civil  War,  too." 
"Then  I  must  introduce  you  to  him  right  off.    He's  a 
senior  at  Harvard— graduates  this  year.    I  don't  mean,  of 
course,  that  there's  anything  in  it  yet,  but  there's  no  deny 
ing  that  he's  pretty  devoted." 

"  He  can't  be  'the  only  one.    With  two  such  daughters  in 
the  house,  I  should  think  you'd  be  overrun  with  devoted 
tins." 

;They  are  pretty  girls,  I  can't  deny  that,"  responded 
Mrs.  Avery  with  a  gracious  nod,  "and  each  in  her  own 
way;  but,"  she  continued,  pausing  on  the  threshold  of  the 
dining-room  to  add  impressiveness  to  her  words,  "  a  Boston 
mother  has  always  to  remember  that  there  are  two  hun 
dred  thousand  more  women  than  men  in  Massachusetts. 
Girls  get  kinks  into  their  head.  What  Priscilla  said  about 
the  New  England  conscience  before  dinner  had  reference 
to  him."  She  pointed  with  the  candle  in  the  direction  of 
the  front  stairs.  "When  Professor  Paton  told  us  at  dinner 
that  some  one  had  accused  Chauncey  Chippendale  of  be 
ing  offside,  Priscilk  suspected  him.  There,  I'm  letting  you 
into  family  secrets." 

"Then  she  doesn't  entirely  reciprocate  his  devotion ?" 
asked  Blaisdell  gaily.  Although  he  preferred  Lora,  it  did 
not  suit  him  to  be  denied  by  fate  the  opportunity  for  a 
more  deliberate  choice. 

"She  thinks  she  doesn't,  but  she  does,"  answered  Mrs. 


44  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

Avery  in  his  ear  on  her  way  through  the  hall.  "He  may 
be  a  little  pernickety  at  times,  but  that's  infinitely  better 
in  the  long  run  than  being  fast." 

Just  at  this  moment  Lora  began  to  sing  again,  which 
drove  every  other  consideration  for  the  moment  from 
Blaisdell's  mind.  Again  the  selection  was  of  a  bright,  airy 
kind,  but  the  sentiment  was  not  satirical,  nor  did  it  lend 
itself  to  personal  application.  This  time  she  did  not  seem 
aware  of  his  presence,  though  he  stood  in  the  same  spot  as 
before  and  was  feasting  his  eyes  on  her.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  she  sang  entrancingly.  The  melody  flowed  as  richly 
and  spontaneously  from  her  throat  as  the  notes  of  a  song 
bird.  And  how  attractive  she  was!  How  pretty,  how 
frolicsome,  and  how  capable  looking! 


CHAPTER  IV 

BLAISDELL'S  success  up  to  this  time  had  been  with  men. 
He  had  sought  to  attract  the  attention  of  his  masters,  and 
to  put  his  best  foot  forward  among  his  fellows,  but  young 
women  were  practically  a  sealed  book  to  him.  A  book, 
however,  which  to  judge  from  the  binding,  was  to  be 
handled  with  reverence.  Yet  the  single  peep  inside  which 
he  had  taken,  on  one  of  the  few  occasions  in  his  life  when 
he  had  met  the  other  sex  unreservedly,  had  served  to  con 
vince  him  that  they  were  human;  he  had  squeezed  a  girl's 
hand  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  at  a  church  sociable  and 
she  had  not  resented  it.  From  this  one  incident  he  had 
not  jumped  to  a  hasty  conclusion,  but  it  had  led  him  to 
suspect  that  a  deer-stalking  policy  was  not  invariably 
necessary  in  the  case  of  courtship.  Indeed,  he  had  every 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  45 

intention,  in  the  event  of  his  falling  in  love  in  the  dim 
future,  of  wooing  the  maiden  of  his  choice  as  openly  and 
thoroughly  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  pursuing  the  other 
objects  of  his  interest. 

This  method  was  in  keeping  with  his  self-reliant  nature. 
Therefore,  with  his  single  experience  at  the  back  of  his 
mind,  Blaisdell,  as  soon  as  the  song  was  over,  made  a  bee-line 
for  the  piano  and  mingled  with  the  group  which  clustered 
about  it.  Lora  now  insisted  that  one  of  the  other  girls 
should  take  her  place,  and  when  she  rose  the  new  boarder 
was  at  her  shoulder  with  a  manifest  intention  of  talking  to 
her  in  his  eyes.  Observing  that  her  favorite  seat,  the  divan 
piled  with  cushions  in  the  angle  of  the  screen,  had  just  been 
vacated  by  her  successor  at  the  piano,  she  hastened  to 
establish  herself  there.  Blaisdell,  on  the  alert  that  no  one 
should  get  ahead  of  him,  promptly  appropriated  the  rest 
of  the  sofa.  Their  position  commanded  the  room,  yet  was 
in  a  measure  isolated  from  it. 

"What  was  that  first  piece  you  sang?"  he  inquired. 
"From  the  'Mikado.'     Gilbert  and  Sullivan's  operas 
are  all  the  rage  now.    Did  you  like  it?" 

"It's  as  good  as  going  to  the  theatre  to  hear  you  sing. 
You've  a  superb  voice." 

"But  I  was  only  strumming  then — running  through  the 
score  while  you  men  were  smoking." 

"I  listened  to  the  words,  too,  and  what  I  wish  to  know," 
said  Blaisdell,  regarding  her  fixedly,  "is  whether  the  young 
man  took  the  advice.  Did  he  'despair  and  go  to,'  as  he 
was  bidden?" 

Lora  looked  elated  but  a  little  confused.  "  Oh,  that  was 
a  man's  song— Pooh  bah.  You've  heard  of  him,  haven't 
you?"  Her  lisp  always  thrilled  him. 

"But  there  was  a  girl  in  it.    He  was  cautioned  not  to 


46  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

woo  Yum- Yum.    I'm  interested  to  know  what  happened. 
I'm  sure  he  married  her  in  the  end." 
"Why  are  you  sure?" 

"Because  the  right  sort  of  man  would,  if  he  dared." 
"But  suppose  the  girl  didn't  care  for  him?" 
"She  couldn't  help  herself.    Come  now,  he  did  marry 
her,  didn't  he?" 

Lora  tossed  her  head  in  animated  protest  at  the  claim, 
but  was  obliged  to  admit  that  in  the  play  it  had  so  re 
sulted.  "That  was  in  Japan,  though,"  she  exclaimed, 
and  she  began  to  hum  blithely  the  words  of  the  opening 
chorus : 

"If  you  want  to  know  who  we  are 

We  are  gentlemen  of  Japan: 
On  many  a  vase  and  jar 

On  many  a  screen  and  fan " 

Blaisdell  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  that  he  was  fas 
cinated.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  content  to  have  her 
know  what  was  passing  through  his  mind.  She  was  so 
alluring  and  yet  so  direct.  Her  touch  was  bewitchingly 
light,  and  yet  she  invariably  kept  straight  to  the  point, 
showing  that  she  was  practical  withal. 

"It's  true  anywhere,  I  guess,  if  a  man's  determined 
enough;  if  he  sets  his  teeth  and  says  ll  love  her  and  I'll 
have  her.' " 

Blaisdell  looked  resolutely  at  Lora  as  he  spoke.  Yet  he 
did  not  intend  the  words  to  convey  more  than  an  intima 
tion  that,  in  case  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  desire  her,  such 
would  be  her  fate.  This  time  she  seemed  amused  rather 
than  embarrassed  by  his  demeanor.  His  assurance  evi 
dently  struck  her  as  diverting  but  preposterous. 

"I  see  you  don't  know  much  about  American  girls," 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  47 

she  exclaimed  with  coquettish  glee.  "I  wouldn't  put  too 
much  confidence  in  perseverance." 

As  Lora  spoke  the  last  words  she  glanced  across  the 
room  at  her  step-sister  and  Mr.  Sumner,  who  were  ab 
sorbed  in  some  discussion.  The  latter's  expression  was 
earnest,  wistful,  and  a  little  diffident.  Obviously  Priscilla 
was  his  goddess  and  he  was  apprehensive  of  her  frown. 
Just  at  the  moment  she  was  listening— listening  interest 
edly,  yet  sternly;  on  the  lookout— so  it  seemed  to  Blaisdell 
as  he  followed  Miss  Burroughs's  gaze— to  pounce  on  the 
opinion  he  was  advancing  and  contradict  it. 

Lora  said  nothing,  but  Blaisdell  divined  from  her 
roguish  smile  that  they  were  a  case  in  point  before  her 
own  mind  tending  to  illustrate  the  absurdity  of  his  assertion. 

"So  that's  the  fellow  whom  Miss  Avery  suspected  at 

dinner?" 

"Mr.  Henry  Chippendale  Sumner."  Lora  pronounced 
the  words  grandiloquently  with  her  pretty  lisp,  as  if  she 
were  proclaiming  a  royal  title. 

"He  lives  on  the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street  and  comes 
here  to  visit  your  sister." 

"  So  mama  has  been  telling  tales  out  of  school.  Yes,  he 
may  be  said  to  be  somewhat  partial  to  Priscilla;  in  fact, 
he  may  almost  be  said  to  be  persevering,  Mr.  Blaisdell." 

" But  he  stands  in  awe  of  her  and  lets  her  see  it;  and  the 
next  moment— look  there— he  rouses  all  her  evil  passions." 

Priscilla  was  talking  now  and  her  eyes  were  flashing  like 
one  whose  noblest  sensibilities  had  been  outraged. 

"But  he's  obstinate,  too,  and  never  gives  in,  though  he 
does  stand  in  awe  of  her."  BlaisdelPs  diagnosis  of  fear  had 
evidently  struck  Lora  as  accurately  droll,  for  she  uttered 
one  of  her  bubbling  laughs.  "Priscilla  maintains  that  he 
is  always  pouring  cold  water  on  her  aspirations.  The  few 


48  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

times  I've  talked  to  him,  however,  he  has  seemed  to  me  to 
have  ideals  on  the  brain.  But  Priscilla  says  his  outlook 
on  life  is  limited;  she  likes  action — big  things  and  going 
right  ahead.  All  the  same— for  I  guess  he's  kind  and 
clever,  and  mama  has  discovered  that  his  moral  character 
is  irreproachable — if  I  were  in  her  shoes,  I  should  try  hard 
to  like  him.  I  should  love  to  live  on  the  water  side  of  Bea 
con  Street.  I  tell  Priscilla  that  she  isn't  sufficiently  appre 
ciative  of  the  compliment." 

"The  compliment?" 

"Of  being  invited  to  mingle  her  blood  with  the  sacred 
blue  blood  of  the  Chippendales.  It's  a  good  deal  like  the 
case  of  the  Prince  in  the  fairy  tale  and  Cinderella— only 
I'm  not  a  proud  sister.  The  way  they  met,  too,  was  deli- 
ciously  romantic.  Disguised  at  a  fancy  ball  as  a  Persian 
poet,  he  singled  her  out  from  the  throng  and  fell  in  love 
with  her  on  the  spot.  What  could  Priscilla  ask  better  than 
that?" 

In  spite  of  her  gay  tone  Blaisdell  understood  that  she 
was  half  in  earnest.  Moreover,  her  intimation  that  she 
would  like  to  live  on  the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street  made 
that  locality  for  the  first  time  seem  important  to  him.  On 
his  way  home  from  the  office  on  the  previous  afternoon  he 
had  made  a  detour  through  the  so-called  Back  Bay.  He 
had  walked  down  the  sunny  slope  of  Beacon  Hill  from  the 
State  House,  where  the  houses  are  only  on  one  side,  past 
the  Common  and  along  the  sidewalk  which  skirts  the 
Public  Garden.  Then  crossing  Arlington  Street  he  had 
met  the  fresh  west  wind  which  blew  in  his  face  as  through 
a  tunnel,  and  followed  the  tall  mansions  of  the  long  straight 
street  without  envy,  yet  with  the  eye  of  one  who  intended 
to  be  content  sooner  or  later  with  nothing  less  dignified 
and  substantial.  These  were  the  days  of  cold  and  formal 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  49 

brownstone  substantiality  and  stateliness,  chiefly  with 
lofty  stoops  and  high-studded  stories,  mantled  now  and 
then  with  ampelopsis  or  dusty  wistaria.  At  regular  inter 
vals  through  the  short  side  streets,  named  in  alphabetical 
sequence  after  famous  political  aristocrats  of  old  England 
—Berkeley,  Clarendon,  Dartmouth — he  saw  almost  within 
a  stone's  throw  the  gleaming  surface  of  the  river  Charles 
on  which  the  prosperous  merchants  who  built  there  had 
turned  their  backs  from  fear  of  that  northeast  wind  which 
has  been  described  as  themselves  made  flesh. 

"And  now  they  sigh  for  an  enchanter's  wand 
To  put  their  porches  where  their  kitchens  stand." 

The  lines  were  an  impromptu  effort  on  the  part  of  Morgan 
Drake,  who  had  a  faculty  for  composing  satirical  couplets 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  when  Blaisdell  had  subse 
quently  alluded  to  his  excursion. 

He  had  been  mildly  interested  by  the  Back  Bay;  the 
handsome  private  residences  and  the  churches  and  edu 
cational  buildings  of  the  new  district — the  new  made  land, 
as  it  was  called — were  imposing  and  suggested  a  wealthy 
community.  But  they  meant  nothing  to  him.  He  ex 
pressed  much  more  interest  concerning  the  historic  spots 
and  monuments  which  he  had  visited  in  the  course  of  the 
week.  Indeed,  his  close  observation  in  regard  to  these  had 
first  arrested  Priscilla's  attention.  When  he  described 
graphically  the  old  North  Church,  from  the  tower  of  which 
Paul  Revere' s  friend  hung  the  Ian  thorns,  she  was  conscious 
of  wondering  whether  she  could  find  it  unaided.  She  had 
visited  it  once  somewhere  at  the  North  End.  When  he 
spoke  of  Copp's  Hill  Burying  Ground,  she  flushed  under 
the  self-inquiry  whether  there  were  still  a  Copp's  Hill  and 
if  so,  where. 


50  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

He  had  noticed  new  points  of  interest  even  in  such 
hackneyed  landmarks  as  the  State  House,  Frog  Pond  and 
Bunker  Hill,  and  had  put  her  completely  to  the  blush  by 
asking,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  what  was  on  top  of  the 
vane  on  Faneuil  Hall — an  elementary  question,  it  would 
seem.  Neither  she  nor  Lora  had  been  able  to  answer  it, 
however. 

"A  gilded  grasshopper,"  was  his  response.  "Plain  as 
can  be,  if  you  only  choose  to  look." 

Priscilla  then  realized  that  she  had  never  known,  but 
her  mortification  yielded  to  enthusiasm.  "How  you  do 
observe  everything ;  the  things  which  we  all  ought  to  see 
and  don't!"  she  had  exclaimed. 

But  now  Blaisdell's  acumen,  whetted  by  Lora's  re 
marks  on  blue  blood,  reverted  to  his  walk  through  the 
Back  Bay.  Was  there  something  he  did  not  understand  ? 
At  all  events,  such  a  point  of  view  was  to  be  ridiculed. 
"I  guess  the  blood  in  this  house  is  just  as  good  as  any 
body's,"  he  asserted. 

Lora  smiled  indulgently.  "That's  polite,  but  it  shows 
you  haven't  lived  very  long  in  Boston.  We're  not  fash 
ionable  people.  The  people  in  this  room" — and  she  cast 
a  comprehensive  glance  around  her — "are  clever  people 
and  pleasant  people,  but  nobody  in  particular.  They're 
rather  hard  up,  and  the  atmosphere  we  breathe  is  greenery 
yellery — the  latest  fad — half  Bohemian,  half  literary. 
Mama  and  I  are  new — from  the  West.  The  Avery  blood 
used  to  be  deep  blue,  but  the  pigment  has  been  diluted  by 
years  of  close  economy — low  living  and  high  thinking, 
Priscilla  calls  it.  She  declares  she's  almost  a  social  albino, 
and  she  rather  glories  in  the  fact.  But  I  don't.  In  short," 
she  continued,  egged  on  by  Blaisdell's  look  of  dissent, 
"we  are  odds  and  ends  of  society — social  mongrels,  if 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  51 

you  like.  Aren't  we  social  mongrels?"  she  asked,  appeal 
ing  to  Mr.  Drake,  who  came  up  at  this  moment.  "  By  com 
parison,  I  mean.  I'm  trying  to  explain  to  Mr.  Blaisdell 
what  it  signifies  to  be  a  Chippendale.  I  think  I  really 
know,  but  I've  been  here  such  a  short  time  that  I'm  not 
sure  I  can  express  it." 

Morgan  Drake  pondered  a  moment,  tilting  his  wan, 
sympathetic  face  to  one  side.  "We  are  the  scum  of  the 
earth  as  compared  with  Chippendales.  To  be  one  means 
lots  of  things.  But  first  of  all,  Blaisdell,  being  able  to  save 
half  your  income,  as  I  told  you  up-stairs — and  having 
standards.  That's  it,  I  rather  think,"  he  said,  weighing 
his  words,  "  standards.  They  live  up  to  them.  The  stand 
ards  may  be  narrow — heaven  knows,  some  of  them  are — 
but  they  live  up  to  them.  It's  pretty  difficult  for  a  new 
comer  to  realize  how  Boston  can  be  the  hotbed  of  every 
fad  in  creation  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  conservative 
place  under  the  sun.  But  it's  true  there  are  two  kinds  of 
Bostonians — people  who  are  cantankerous  because  every 
thing  isn't  just  as  it  used  to  be,  and  those  who  are  perpet 
ually  seething  with  something  new." 

"And  the  Chippendales  are  the  old  fogies,  I  dare  say? 
The  holders  up  of  progress?"  said  Blaisdell,  jumping  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  understood. 

Drake  shook  his  head.  "You  would  find  both  kinds  in 
that  family,  as  in  nearly  every  other  which  counts  for  any 
thing.  No,  it's  the  way  each  kind  adheres  to  and  insists 
on  what  it  believes  which  distinguishes  them.  There's 
where  their  fathers  lived — both  kinds,  side  by  side,"  he 
continued,  waving  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  Beacon 
Hill,  "facing  the  sacred  Common  and  the  mid-day  sun 
which  poured  in  through  their  purple-tinted  window-panes. 
And,"  extending  his  gesture  toward  the  west,  "there's 


52  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

where  they  live  now,  on  the  new-made  land,  as  we  call  it, 
because  it's  compounded  of  gravel,  tomato  cans,  and  old 
hoop-skirts.  It's  the  same  old  point  of  view,  though- 
only  there  are  lots  more  people — and — but  you  can't  under 
stand,"  he  broke  off,  "  until  you  have  lived  here  long 
enough  to  see  us  all  up  in  arms  over  something  the  rest  of 
mankind  never  heard  of  and  cares  next  to  nothing  about." 

Blaisdell  assumed  the  description  to  be  whimsical. 
Morgan  Drake  was  evidently  sardonically  inclined ;  one  of 
those  literary  fellows— so  he  concluded — who  felt  obliged 
to  appear  clever.  Nevertheless,  he  accepted  the  description 
for  what  it  was  worth,  and  merely  qualified  his  inability  to 
understand  by  expressing  the  doubt  to  himself  whether 
there  was  anything  in  it  he  would  ever  care  to  know.  At 
the  same  moment  Lora  came  to  his  rescue  with  the  remark 
that  he  had  already  discovered  more  about  Boston  in  a 
week  than  Priscilla  and  she  knew  together. 

"Then  he  is  just  the  man  we  need — some  one  with 
acute  powers  of  observation,"  said  Drake.  "Your  mother 
sent  me  over  to  organize  a  mind  reading  test." 

Lora  clapped  her  hands.  "This  is  real  Boston,"  she 
exclaimed  to  Blaisdell.  "Priscilla  is  great  at  it.  She  will 
blindfold  you  and  then  make  you  do  whatever  she  chooses. 
But  you  mustn't  resist;  you  must  just  let  your  mind  be 
a  perfect  blank." 

"You  could  make  me,  and  I  shouldn't  try  to  resist." 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  treat  this  with  levity,  Mr.  Blaisdell. 
It's  a  serious  matter — an  occult  force,  some  people  think. 
I  never  could  hypnotize  anybody.  I'm  too  matter  of 
fact,  I  suppose." 

"You've  hypnotized  me  already." 

"  How  silly ! "  Lora  blushed  and  showed  her  dimples  un 
der  his  open  determined  gaze,  but  her  words  were  indicative 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  53 

of  what  was  passing  through  her  mind.  Such  exaggerated 
compliments  on  such  short  notice,  however  flattering, 
appeared  to  her  ludicrous.  Besides,  instead  of  being  dis 
concerted  by  her  glances,  as  she  had  originally  intended, 
here  was  this  new  boarder  almost  wooing  her  in  a  bold  and 
brazen  fashion.  This  would  never  do.  "Listen  now, 
mama  is  going  to  explain,"  she  said  with  an  air  of  com 
mand. 

The  girl  who  had  succeeded  Lora  at  the  piano  ceased 
playing  " rag-time"  the  moment  Mrs.  Avery  knocked, 
and  an  expectant  lull  fell  upon  the  company.  Mrs.  Avery, 
with  a  pocket  handkerchief  in  her  hand,  stated  that  the 
person  to  be  experimented  on  must  leave  the  room  so  as 
to  be  out  of  earshot  of  the  discussion  in  regard  to  what 
he  was  to  be  made  to  do.  Which  of  the  men  should  it  be  ? 
From  her  glances  it  was  apparent  that  she  was  hesitating 
between  Henry  Sumner  and  Blaisdell.  They  were  the 
only  men  present  to  whom  the  proceeding  was  a  novelty, 
and  it  lay  in  her  mind  that,  as  the  experiment  was  a  result 
of  a  discussion  which  had  been  going  on  between  Priscilla 
and  her  admirer,  it  might  be  wiser  not  to  begin  with  him. 
He  had  expressed  himself  as  sceptical  of  Priscilla's  power 
to  do  what  she  claimed,  and  it  was  only  fair  to  her  step 
daughter  to  allow  her  to  convince  him  if  she  could.  Mrs. 
Avery  was  on  pins  and  needles  in  her  desire  to  harmonize 
their  constantly  divergent  points  of  view.  Mr.  Sumner 
was  so  anxious  to  please — and  yet  he  seemed  to  have  the 
faculty  of  ruffling  Priscilla  the  wrong  way.  If  she  would 
not  take  him  up  quite  so  sharply !  Only  a  few  days  before 
she  had  expressed  her  feelings  by  saying,  "If  I  didn't  hap 
pen  to  please  you  as  a  man,  I'm  not  sure  that  I  wouldn't 
rather  be  a  worm,  dear."  Now  recalling  Priscilla's  evi 
dent  liking  for  Blaisdell,  she  turned  to  him  as  an  ally. 


54  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Besides,  his  good-humored,  solid  face  suggested  that  he 
would  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion  and  help  them 
out,  if  necessary.  To  tell  the  truth,  Mrs.  Avery  was  not 
quite  sure  whether  the  performance  was  to  be  regarded  as 
a  game  or  an  exhibition  of  magnetic  force.  The  results 
which  were  accomplished  were  simply  wonderful — they 
made  her  gasp;  she  could  not  explain  them.  Yet  all  she 
ever  did  was  to  hold  the  blindfolded  person's  hand  while 
Priscilla  held  the  other,  and  think  hard  of  the  thing  to  be 
done. 

"Come,  Mr.  Blaisdell,"  she  cried,  "you're  a  fresh  sub 
ject.  You've  never  played  it  before,  have  you?  That's 
splendid,"  she  continued  in  answer  to  his  assurance  that 
he  was  entirely  a  novice.  "It  might  be  claimed  otherwise 
there  was  collusion.  Go  into  the  dining-room,  and  we  will 
call  you  when  we're  ready." 

When  Blaisdell  returned  in  response  to  a  summons  from 
Morgan  Drake,  his  landlady  bound  the  handkerchief — 
a  large  one  belonging  to  her  husband — securely  across  his 
eyes.  Then  Mrs.  Avery  took  one  of  his  hands  and  Priscilla 
the  other,  each  letting  her  fingers  lightly  clasp  a  wrist. 

"Now  the  important  thing  is  to  think  of  nothing.  Let 
your  mind  be  an  absolute  blank,"  Priscilla  cautioned  him, 
and  he  heard  Lora  laugh  explosively  at  this  repetition  of 
her  own  warning.  The  rest  of  the  company  was  sitting  ex 
pectantly  around  the  room,  partaking  of  chocolate  with 
whipped  cream,  served  in  green  Japanese  cups  without 
handles,  and  little  home-made  cakes  with  an  aromatic 
flavor.  Just  before  he  was  blindfolded  Blaisdell  had  ob 
served  Henry  Sumner  paying  close  heed  to  the  preparations 
with  a  quizzical  smile.  The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met  and 
Blaisdell,  who  understood  already  that  he  was  being  used 
as  a  medium  for  confounding  the  young  man  who  lived 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  55 

on  the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street,  felt  the  inclination 
come  over  him  to  do  whatever  was  expected  of  him — 
what  precisely  he  did  not  know.  For  Henry  Sumner 
looked  not  only  sceptically  amused  but  lynx-eyed,  as  if  re 
solved  that  nothing  should  escape  him.  Between  a  man 
who  took  a  game  too  seriously  and  a  woman,  his  sympa 
thies  turned  to  the  latter,  especially  as  the  burden  of  proof 
was  on  her  shoulders,  whereas  her  opponent  had  merely 
to  sit  back  and  carp. 

For  the  first  few  moments  the  trio  remained  stationary. 
Blaisdell  tried  assiduously  to  think  of  nothing  as  directed; 
but  presently,  losing  his  balance  slightly,  he  shuffled  his 
feet  to  the  right,  which  was  toward  Priscilla.  Before  he 
regained  his  pose  he  felt  drawn  a  few  steps  on  that  side. 
Again  he  remained  motionless,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  both 
muscularly  and  mentally  limp.  The  pause  was  so  pro 
longed  that  Mrs.  Avery  began  to  breathe  hard  and  ripples 
of  suppressed  mirth  emanated  from  the  audience.  He  was 
conscious  from  Priscilla' s  nervous  touch  that  she  was  be 
coming  agitated. 

A  moment  later  those  looking  on,  who  had  been  on  the 
point  of  interrupting,  became  still,  for  the  new  boarder 
had  begun  to  move.  To  glide  rather,  very  slowly  and 
with  an  occasional  pause,  yet  unmistakably  and  under  the 
influence,  so  it  appeared,  of  some  occult  power.  With 
Mrs.  Avery's  and  her  step-daughter's  fingers  still  lightly 
holding  his  wrists,  he  went  steadily  down  the  room,  paus 
ing  every  now  and  then,  yet  persisting,  until  he  was  close 
to  the  piano.  There  he  halted  again  as  if  not  quite  certain 
of  the  next  step.  Suddenly  his  hand  went  slowly  up  in  the 
direction  of  the  gas  jet  just  behind  the  music  stool  and, 
hovering  for  a  moment  or  two,  touched  the  stop-cock. 
The  next  instant  his  fingers  seized  it  and  extinguished  the 


56  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

light.  Immediately  there  was  loud  applause  and  laughter. 
He  had  done  the  feat  which  was  expected  of  him,  and  in 
another  moment  Mrs.  Avery's  nimble  fingers  had  loosened 
the  knot  and  BlaisdelPs  sight  was  restored. 

Priscilla  regarded  him  jubilantly.  "You  were  splen 
did,"  she  cried.  "You  didn't  offer  the  slightest  resistance 
and  we  just  willed  you  to  do  it.  You  felt  an  uncontrollable 
impulse  to  put  out  the  gas,  didn't  you?" 

"Everyone  must  have  realized  that."  The  hearty  ring 
to  BlaisdelPs  voice  carried  assurance.  He  was  smiling,  but 
his  geniality  suggested  acquiescence  not  distrust. 

"What  have  you  to  say  now?  How  do  you  explain  it, 
Mr.  Sumner?"  asked  Mrs.  Avery,  turning  to  the  sceptic 
for  whose  benefit  the  test  had  been  undertaken. 

"My  opinion  hasn't  changed.  Explain  it?  Why,  of 
course,  he  was  pulled." 

The  words  were  spoken  with  jaunty  yet  deprecating  de 
fiance,  as  if  the  speaker  realized  that  he  was  asserting  his 
personal  spiritual  conviction  against  his  temporal  inter 
ests  and  was  at  the  same  time  a  suppliant  for  mercy. 

"I  hold  up  my  hand  and  swear  I  didn't  move  a  muscle," 
protested  Mrs.  Avery. 

Priscilla  had  stiffened  at  the  charge.  "It's  simply  ab 
surd,"  she  retorted.  "I  appeal  to  Mr.  Blaisdell.  I  ask 
you,  Mr.  Blaisdell,  if  you  were  conscious  of  the  slightest 
pressure  being  exerted  on  you  at  any  time  by  either  of  us  ?" 

"Not  the  slightest,"  said  Blaisdell,  without  hesitation, 
and  he  looked  Sumner  beamingly  in  the  face. 

"Miss  Avery  pulled  without  being  aware  of  it.  The 
pressure  was  involuntary.  I  meant  to  say  that  in  the  be 
ginning." 

"But  if  neither  of  us  were  aware  of  any  pressure,  what 
proof  is  there  that  any  existed?"  asked  Blaisdell,  and  per- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  57 

ceiving  his  opportunity,  he  added,  "  You  claim,  I  suppose, 
that  because  you  can't  see  how  the  thing  is  done— because 
it  transcends  your  experience — the  explanation  must  be 
collusion  or  self-deception.  Is  that  quite  fair  ?  There  are 
all  sorts  of  mysterious  powers  about  us  which  we  don't 
understand,  and  in  trying  to  penetrate  them  we  now  and 
then  get  a  glimpse  of  their  workings.  Isn't  this  one  of 
those  glimpses  ?  That  seems  to  me  the  broader  view." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  sympathetic  approval  as  he 
paused. 

"Well  put,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Avery  who,  returning 
from  a  second  pipe  in  his  den,  had  listened  to  Blaisdell 
from  the  threshold. 

"If  we're  not  careful,  he'll  persuade  us  that  black  is 
white,"  whispered  Morgan  Drake  to  Professor  Paton. 

"I  just  knew  I  didn't  move,"  said  Mrs.  Avery  gaily. 
"It's  mesmerism — of  course,  it's  mesmerism." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Blaisdell,"  said  Priscilla.  "You've 
supplied  us  with  just  the  right  phrase — '  the  broader  view. ' 
Mr.  Blaisdell  has  an  open  mind,"  she  asserted  with  a 
derisive  courtesy  to  her  admirer.  It  was  plain  that  she  re 
joiced  at  what  she  regarded  as  his  discomfiture;  her 
cheeks  were  bright  with  the  glow  of  triumph. 

"Mine  seems  the  narrower  view  because  I  can't  prove 
that  it  was  self-deception.  Which  only  shows — 

"That  you  think  you  know  what  is  going  on  in  my 
mind  better  than  I  do  myself." 

"Not  altogether;  and  yet " 

"In  this  particular  case  you  are  convinced  of  it,  because 
you  are  not  willing,  as  Mr.  Blaisdell  says,  to  countenance 
any  explanation  which  savors  of  wonderland.  My  an 
swer  is  that  the  fault  lies  in  your  own  lack  of  imagination." 

"  She  accuses  you  of  being  a  literal  Bostonian,"  explained 


58  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Morgan  Drake.  "Of  the  Brahmin  caste,"  he  whispered 
in  Lora's  ear  under  cover  of  the  laugh  which  his  sally 
elicited. 

"And  if  I  am — why,  to  be  honest  with  one's  self  is  often 
one  of  the  most  difficult  things  in  the  world." 

Priscilla's  eyes  flashed.  "But  that's  an  insult  to  the 
intelligence." 

"You  know  well—"  he  began,  horrified  evidently  by  the 
effect  of  his  own  presumption.  Then  realizing  doubtless 
that  he  was  in  danger  of  floundering,  he  stopped  short. 
"Let  me  try,"  he  said.  "If  you  succeed  with  me,  I  will 
believe,"  and  he  held  out  his  hands. 

"She  is  lost,"  Lor  a  confided  to  Morgan  Drake.  "She 
knows  in  her  heart  that  she  exerts  pressure  unconsciously, 
but  she  will  never  admit  it."  The  point  which  was  uncer 
tain  to  practical  Miss  Burroughs  was  what  Blaisdell 
thought  of  the  whole  affair.  Was  his  plea  one  of  credulity 
or  partnership  ? 

"Where  is  the  handkerchief?"  asked  Mrs.  A  very  so 
licitously,  eager  for  the  test. 

But  Priscilla  stood  irresolute  like  one  seeking  a  valid 
excuse  for  evading  a  challenge. 

"Has  Mr.  Sumner  an  open  mind?"  asked  Blaisdell, 
springing  into  the  breach.  "  Will  not  his  lack  of  faith  nec 
essarily  prevent  the  mysterious  force  from  working?  I 
was  cautioned  by  Miss  Lora  before  I  began" — and  he 
looked  intently  in  her  direction — "that  the  essential  thing 
was  not  to  resist  and  to  let  the  mind  be  a  perfect  blank. 
The  point  is  whether,  under  all  the  circumstances,  his 
mind  would  be  capable  of  becoming  a  perfect  blank." 

"And  he  would  be  certain  to  resist,"  cried  Priscilla, 
rejoicing  that  her  native  honesty  had  been  provided  with 
a  legitimate  argument.  "He  could  not  help  resisting." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  59 

"That  young  man  will  be  heard  from  later — mark  my 
words.  He  has  the  gift  of  gab,  if  nothing  else,"  said  Pro 
fessor  Paton  to  Mr.  Avery. 

"I  promise  not  to  resist,  and  my  mind  shall  remain 
blank  as  a  sheet  of  paper."  Sumner  spoke  with  engaging 
candor. 

Priscilla,  having  found  her  cue,  was  at  ease  again.  "  The 
resistance  would  be  unconscious,  of  course."  Then  an  in 
spiration  seized  her,  and  she  added,  "  You  may  try,  if  you 
like,  but  it  would  be  no  use." 

This  was  evidently  the  opinion  of  the  company,  unless 
it  "were  Mrs.  Avery,  who,  anxious  to  propitiate  Henry 
Su\nner,  hastened  to  tie  the  handkerchief  over  his  eyes. 

"Come,  Mr.  Blaisdell,  you  and  I  will  be  the  accom 
plices  this  time,"  said  Priscilla.  "We  challenge  him  to 
detect  the  slightest  pressure." 

Each  took  a  wrist,  and  the  experiment  began.  All  three 
stood  motionless.  For  a  few  moments  they  were  given  the 
benefit  of  a  complete  silence.  Then,  as  they  continued  to 
stand  like  figures  in  a  tableau,  everybody  began  to  laugh. 
The  next  instant  Priscilla  dropped  Sumner's  hand. 

"I  told  you  it  would  be  no  use.  You  resisted  all  the 
while.  I  could  feel  you  resisting."  So  saying,  she  sum 
marily  untied  the  knot,  and  the  handkerchief  fell  from 
his  eyes. 

"I  assure  you" — Sumner  started  to  protest. 

But  Blaisdell  cut  him  short.  "The  trouble  was,  you 
were  saying  to  yourself  every  moment  that  you  wouldn't 
resist,  which  was  just  as  bad.  Your  mind  wasn't  a  perfect 
blank,  so  it  was  not  possible  for  us  to  succeed.  You  were 
really  antagonistic  in  every  fibre  of  your  being." 

This  uttered  jocularly  was  at  once  accepted  as  a  clever 
finale  to  the  diversion,  which  had  lasted  long  enough. 


60  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Two  or  three  guests  made  their  adieus  to  Mrs.  Avery;  the 
hour  was  getting  late. 

"Antagonistic  in  every  fibre  of  your  being."  Priscilla, 
radiant,  echoed  the  apt  phrase.  "That  exactly  described 
your  state  of  mind,  Mr.  Sumner."  The  smile  which  she 
accorded  her  admirer  was  made  up  both  of  exultation  and 
the  agreeable  consciousness  that  she  was  demonstrating 
how  narrow  he  was. 

Some  one  again  was  playing  "rag-time"  at  the  piano, 
and  there  was  a  loud  murmur  of  leave-taking.  The  victim 
realized  that  the  opportunity  had  been  denied  him  to  reply 
to  BlaisdelPs  trenchant  diagnosis.  He  understood  that 
the  easy-going  readiness  of  his  opponent  was  what  had 
won  the  sympathies  of  the  audience — but  it  was  his  nature 
to  feel  disturbed  that  the  eternal  verities  as  he  saw  them 
should  be  obscured.  Yet  reluctant  as  he  was  to  abandon 
the  field,  his  disappointment  yielded  forthwith  to  the  joy 
of  being  able  to  confine  his  attention  to  her  who  was  re 
sponsible  for  his  presence  in  this  semi-Bohemian  drawing- 
room.  For  he  found  himself  alone  with  Priscilla  once 
more.  Blaisdell  had  slipped  away  to  Lora's  side  and 
everybody  else  was  occupied.  Thereupon,  undeterred  by 
his  lady-love's  air  of  triumph  and  ignoring  her  taunt,  he 
tremulously  put  into  words  the  formula  which  he  had 
been  treasuring  up  all  the  evening  as  a  parting  speech. 

"  Shall  you  "be  at  home  to-morrow  afternoon  ?"  And  he 
added,  "There  is  something  particular  which  I  wish  to 
say  to  you." 

As  he  spoke  Sumner  was  painfully  conscious  that  his 
words  were  excessively  common-place  and  that  his  man 
ner  was  egregiously  wooden.  He  knew  his  heart  to  be  a 
volcano,  and  he  intended  his  language  to  convey  so  much, 
and  yet  he  stood  talking  in  a  diffident,  cut  and  dried  sort 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  61 

of  way,  as  if  the  subject-matter  which  he  had  in  mind  was 
as  far  removed  from  passion  as  a  lecture  on  economics. 
He  perceived  that  she  understood — which  increased  his 
perturbation  and  added  to  his  distress.  Would  she  think 
him  indelicate  for  speaking  so  soon?  Was  she  unpre 
pared  for  his  avowal?  Curiously  enough,  this  bogy 
bobbed  up  in  his  mind  side  by  side  with  the  depressing 
conviction  of  his  own  stiffness  and  served  to  heighten  the 
apprehension  of  his  demeanor.  What  would  he  not  give 
for  the  power  to  impart  to  his  voice  and  eyes  the  ardent 
language  of  his  heart!  Even  in  the  disguise  of  an  Eastern 
poet  he  had  been  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found 
wanting.  He  lacked  the  gift  of  expression.  Or  was  it- 
could  it  be  that  he  did  not  really  care  ?  That  others  were 
able  to  feel  more  deeply  than  he?  The  sudden  thought 
was  like  a  stab,  for  Henry  Sumner's  creed  in  life  was  never 
to  avoid  facing  the  truth.  A  fire  worshipper !  Would  that 
he  possessed  even  the  engaging  ease  of  his  cousin,  Chaun- 
cey  Chippendale,  or  could  borrow  for  the  occasion  the 
fluent,  stalwart  assurance  of  his  late  opponent  in  the  mes 
meric  test.  A  vivid  vision  of  how  differently  this  domi 
nating  newcomer  would  conduct  himself  in  similar  cir 
cumstances  haunted  his  mind's  eye  as  a  final  figure  in  the 
swift  train  of  impressions  which  darted  through  his  sensi 
tive  brain  while  he  waited  for  Priscilla's  answer.  "I'm  an 
awkward  goat,"  he  subconsciously  murmured.  Sumner 
was  prone  to  sardonic  mental  soliloquy  at  his  own  expense. 
His  critical  cast  of  mind  was  never  lenient  toward  himself. 
There  was  an  appreciable  moment  of  waiting.  Pris 
cilla's  heart  beat  fast  as  the  result  of  his  words.  She  could 
not  doubt  what  was  in  his  mind  in  spite  of  the  formal  little 
bow  which  accompanied  the  announcement,  as  though  he 
were  planning  to  ask  her  to  dance  the  German  instead  of 


62  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

to  become  his  wife.  But  his  eagle  glance — subdued  so  as 
not  to  violate  conventionalities,  yet  eagle — negatived  his 
deprecating,  almost  timid,  air.  For  months  she  had  been 
refusing  to  believe — declaring  as  preposterous  when  it  was 
broached  by  her  family— the  idea  that  his  attentions  would 
culminate  in  anything  desperate.  Was  not  caution  the 
ruling  motive  of  his  life  ?  Only  a  week  before,  when  bad 
gered  by  Lora  on  the  subject,  this  had  been  her  comment : 

"If  you  wish  to  know,  the  real  trouble  with  Henry  Sum- 
ner  is  that  he  lacks  genuine  enthusiasm.  If  he  offered 
himself  to  a  girl,  it  would  be  because  he  had  worked  him 
self  up  to  it  in  spite  of  her  faults.  I  won't  have  the  man 
whom  I  accept  for  better  or  for  worse  love  me  in  a  luke 
warm,  apologetic  fashion.  He  shall  think  me  an  angel 
and  be  unaware  of  my  shortcomings." 

This  argument  was  very  convincing  now,  so  why  was  it 
that  her  heart  beat  so  quickly  ?  As  Hafiz,  the  first  evening 
of  their  acquaintance,  he  had  shown  himself  lukewarm 
and  inadequate  as  a  lover.  What  had  he  done  since  but 
pour  cold  water  on  her  most  cherished  inspirations  and 
contradict  her  at  every  turn  ?  The  very  fact  that  she  ap 
peared  to  be  tolerating  for  a  moment  the  possibility  of 
listening  to  his  suit  irritated  her,  so  that  she  drew  her  tall 
figure  to  its  height  and  regarded  him — so  it  seemed  to  her 
— disdainfully.  Yet  the  words  which  she  coldly  uttered 
were: 

"I  expect  to  be  at  home  to-morrow  afternoon  after  five 
o'clock." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  63 


CHAPTER  V 

As  Henry  Sumner  strode  away  from  the  Averys's  he  re 
peated  to  himself  the  trite  but  dashing  lines : 

"He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch 
To  win  or  lose  it  all." 

His  family  would  be  startled  by  his  choice.  His  mother 
and  two  sisters  were  aware  of  his  interest  in  Priscilla, 
but  they  had  no  inkling  of  his  purpose  to  ask  her  to  be 
come  his  wife.  She  was  not  one  of  their  own  set.  As  for 
his  relatives,  the  Chippendales,  they  would  be  shocked. 
He  was  used  to  shocking  the  Chippendales,  and  he  was 
aware  that  they,  though  fond  of  him,  viewed  him  askance, 
fearful  what  he  would  do  next.  A  speech  of  his  cousin 
Chauncey's,  who  was  in  the  same  class  at  Harvard,  had 
reached  his  ears — "Henry  Sumner  is  in  his  way  one  of  the 
most  interesting  fellows  in  college,  but  one  of  the  biggest 
cranks  in  creation."  Chauncey  was  an  authority  on  social 
matters  out  there;  his  word  carried  weight,  for  he  had 
been  "first  man"  in  the  leading  societies  and  was  promi 
nent  on  the  foot-ball  team.  Henry  had  been  taken  into  the 
"Institute"  on  the  strength  of  this  qualified  endorsement, 
but  in  one  of  the  last  tens,  as  was  fitting  in  the  case  of  one 
who  had  a  way  of  criticizing  the  established  order  of 
things. 

Henry  Sumner 's  development  thus  far  had  been  chiefly 
on  the  side  of  conscience  and  subjective  ideals.  He  was 
not  an  ascetic,  for  he  displayed  a  healthy  appetite.  More 
over,  he  had  no  trace  of  effeminacy.  On  the  contrary,  he 
enjoyed  regular  exercise,  and  possessed  a  spare,  muscular 


64  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

frame,  which  rendered  him  a  formidable  competitor  in 
every-day  sports.  But  his  ruling  passion  thus  far  had 
been  duty — duty  relieved  by  entrancing  visions.  The 
bright  particular  star  which  led  him  on  was  his  father's 
memory — his  father,  who  had  fallen  at  the  head  of  his 
command  in  order  to  free  the  slave  and  to  save  the  Union, 
when  Henry  was  but  a  mere  child.  Colonel  Sumner's 
picture — a  young,  man  in  regimentals,  alert  and  handsome 
— looked  down  on  him  from  the  wall  where  his  eyes  could 
rest  on  it  every  morning  when  he  awoke.  To  do  well  in  his 
studies,  so  that  he  might  later  become  a  credit  to  his  family 
and  follow  in  his  father's  footsteps,  was  the  line  of  conduct 
he  had  laid  out  for  himself.  Not  necessarily  on  the  field 
of  battle — for,  according  to  his  code,  war  was  a  deplorable 
accident,  though  it  might  prove  a  glorious  opportunity. 
But  was  it  not  possible  to  follow  worthily  in  any  path 
where  unselfish  and  untiring  endeavor  would  result  in 
helping  on  the  work  of  the  world  ? 

This  was  the  question  he  had  asked  himself  when, 
under  the  spell  of  Professor  Paton's  enthusiasm  for  Greek, 
it  occurred  to  him  to  devote  his  life  to  scholarship.  Why, 
in  pursuing  erudition  under  the  shadow  of  the  Harvard 
elms,  would  he  not  fulfil  his  obligation  as  a  Sumner  and 
a  Chippendale?  It  would  be  aloof  from  the  madding 
crowd,  but  not  so  remote  that  his  ears  would  be  unable  to 
detect  the  accents  of  falsehood,  or  his  mind's  eye  fail  to 
recognize  a  great  opportunity  for  action.  There  was 
money  enough.  That  is,  his  mother  was  able  to  live  com 
fortably  and  to  provide  for  his  sisters  on  what  she  pos 
sessed  in  her  own  right,  added  to  what  his  father  had  left. 
His  own  share  was  sufficient  to  support  him  decently  as  an 
instructor  at  Harvard — Professor  Paton  had  intimated  to 
him  the  likelihood  of  such  an  employment — even  though 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  65 

married.  Even  though  married!  This  was  an  essential 
proviso,  for  the  two  ideas,  embodying  the  choice  of  a  career 
and  of  a  wife,  had  come  to  him  simultaneously.  So  his 
duty  had  suddenly  amalgamated  with  the  most  entrancing 
of  his  visions  and  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  future  sat 
isfactory  to  both. 

It  will  thus  be  perceived  that  Henry  Summer  was  a 
dreadfully  serious  young  man.  Moreover,  his  seriousness 
was  not  limited  to  the  domain  of  duty,  but  colored  all  his 
estimates — and,  in  particular,  his  estimate  of  the  other  sex. 
It  should  here  be  stated  that  the  entrancing  visions  which 
he  entertained  from  time  to  time  chiefly  related  to  woman 
— maidens  of  a  marriageable  age.  Woman  as  he  saw  her 
in  the  abstract  was  human  to  be  sure,  but  akin  to  the 
angels.  Her  purity,  her  unselfishness  and  her  marvellous 
intuitions  set  her  on  a  pedestal  which  brought  the  skirt  of 
her  dress  about  the  height  of  his  lips,  so  that,  figuratively 
speaking,  he  was  perpetually  kissing  the  hem  of  her  gar 
ment,  and  was,  in  his  own  opinion,  quite  unworthy  to  tie 
her  shoe-strings.  However,  it  would  have  embarrassed 
him  very  much  to  have  been  suddenly  invited  to  do  the 
latter,  for  he  was  rather  clumsy  with  his  fingers  and  his 
ideas  of  propriety  would  have  made  him  tremble.  But 
complimentary  as  this  was,  the  entrancing  vision  thus 
formed  in  the  morning  of  his  youth,  as  to  the  sort  of  per 
son  his  wife  was  to  be,  might  be  described  as  a  little  frosty. 
Ambitious  himself  at  this  time  to  become  an  abstraction 
of  all  the  virtues,  he  demanded  something  even  superior 
for  her,  and  when  he  ventured  to  lift  his  eyes  toward  her 
metaphorical  person,  he  beheld  a  halo  upon  her  brow  re 
flecting  the  white  light  of  divinity. 

When  his  eyes  met  for  the  first  time  those  of  Priscilla 
Avery,  he  realized  that  he  had  found  her — the  woman  he 


66  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

had  been  in  search  of.  Not  deliberately,  not  avowedly  in 
search  of,  of  course,  but  fervently.  There  she  stood  in  the 
flesh,  the  prototype  of  the  being  of  his  fancy;  in  the  allur 
ing  garb  of  a  maiden  from  the  vale  of  Cashmere  to  be  sure, 
but  unmistakably  corresponding  to  his  ideal.  His  own 
disguise  had  enabled  him  to  gaze  more  boldly  than  his 
wont.  His  high  Tartarian  cap  and  other  fantastic  habili 
ments,  instead  of  increasing  his  diffidence,  had  cured  his 
self-consciousness  for  the  time  being  and  given  rein  to  his 
tongue.  He  had  wooed  for  the  moment  in  a  fashion  worthy 
of  the  name,  and  her  glances  had  assured  him  that  his  de 
votion  was  acceptable.  Transported  and  rejoicing  in  his 
ease,  he  had  forgotten  everything — chief  of  all  himself, 
until,  in  a  fatal  moment — the  crucial  moment  of  the  even 
ing  as  it  had  proved — his  New  England  conscience  had  re 
minded  him  that  he  was  the  escort  of  his  sister  and  must 
look  after  her.  Then  at  the  breath  of  duty  the  fabric  of 
his  vision  had  been  rent  and  his  divinity  had  slipped 
through  the  aperture.  Lamenting — yes,  cursing — his 
fate,  he  had  chased  her  down  the  steps  across  the  street 
only  to  have  the  front  door  slammed  in  his  face.  And  she 
had  never  forgiven  him.  He  had  never  been  the  same  to 
her.  But  she  had  remained  the  same,  and  was  the  same 
to  him — transcendently,  ineffably  the  same.  Though  his 
boldness  and  power  of  expression  had  vanished  with  that 
evening,  and  he  was  reincarnated  again  as  the  cold  and 
critical  Bostonian  he  knew  himself  to  be — he  lacked  neither 
determination  nor  hope.  The  memory  of  that  delicious 
evening  lingered.  She  was  the  woman  of  his  choice — the 
only  wife  in  all  the  world  for  him — and  he  was  resolved  to 
win  her.  So  he  had  vowed  on  the  morning  after  the  catas 
trophe,  and  so  he  had  been  saying  to  himself  every  day 
since.  He  had  courted  her  assiduously — as  devotedly  as 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  67 

she  would  permit  him.  He  had  lent  her  books  and  sent 
her  costly  flowers.  In  one  of  various  efforts  to  persuade 
her  that  he  was  really  a  volcano  in  spite  of  appearances, 
he  had  watched  at  midnight  the  light  of  her  bedroom 
window  from  the  shadow  of  the  Art  Museum  until  she 
extinguished  it — and  told  her  so.  He  had  danced  attend 
ance  on  her  every  wish  and  yearned  to  kiss  the  very  ground 
she  trod  upon,  and  yet — and  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  he  had 
reason  to  fear  that  he  had  failed  to  recover  the  lost  ground. 
She  had  never  looked  at  him  again  as  on  that  first  evening. 
Moreover,  he  had  somehow  managed  constantly  to  con 
tradict  and  irritate  her.  Of  a  sudden  all  her  opinions  had 
seemed  to  be  contrary  to  his.  He  had  only  to  express  one, 
to  find  her  on  the  opposite  side,  yet — was  it  not  a  man's 
duty  to  stand  up  for  what  he  believed  to  be  the  truth? 
Duty  again!  Duty  once  more  had  him  by  the  throat; 
duty  had  stepped  in  a  second  time  between  himself  and 
happiness.  He  had  tried  to  suppress  himself,  to  hold  in 
check  the  protesting  arguments  which  would  rise  to  his 
lips  in  spite  of  his  love  and  work  to  his  undoing,  and  he 
had  been  unsuccessful.  Why  was  it  that  he  must  always 
relentlessly  champion  the  truth  to  the  utter  hazard  of  his 
most  precious  happiness  ? 

"  It  was  only  a  game.  I  needn't  have  been  so  stiff.  Why 
didn't  I  enter  into  the  spirit  of  it  like  that  fellow  Blaisdell  ? 
He  knew  just  as  well  as  I  that  she  was  deceiving  herself. 
But  I  can  never  make  believe." 

Sumner  sighed  at  the  end  of  his  soliloquy.  He  would 
ask  her  at  any  rate,  declare  his  love  at  her  feet;  and,  if  she 
refused  him,  go  on  loving.  At  least,  she  had  granted  him 
an  audience.  Must  she  not  have  gathered  his  meaning? 
She  had  given  him  the  opportunity  to  pour  out  his  soul  in 
her  presence  and  that  was  something.  Was  it  not  a  hope- 


68  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ful  sign,  suggesting  that  her  mind  was  not  yet  steeled 
against  him  ? 

Thus  reflecting,  Sumner  proceeded  along  Dartmouth 
Street,  and  crossing  Huntington  Avenue  and  Boylston 
Streets,  hastened  toward  his  home.  Despite  uncertainty 
as  to  what  the  morrow  would  bring  forth,  he  walked  with 
a  springy  step,  for  the  fresh  northwest  breeze  which  blew 
in  his  face  was  as  a  tonic  to  his  blood.  It  was  a  strong  and 
honest  wind,  which  he  loved  even  in  the  rigor  of  winter; 
an  ally  it  ever  seemed  to  him  of  hardy  and  open  living,  a 
foe  to  sloth  and  murkiness.  He  loved  to  battle  against  it, 
and  to-night  when  it  assailed  the  skirt  of  his  thin  ulster 
and  caused  him  to  press  his  little  round  gray  hat  more 
closely  to  his  head,  he  expanded  his  lungs  vigorously  like 
one  who  would  renew  his  strength.  As  he  walked  his  ner 
vous  figure  seemed  the  embodiment  of  energy,  but  he  was 
far  from  sartorially  picturesque.  Absorbed  in  his  desire 
to  become  an  abstraction  of  all  the  virtues,  dress  beyond 
the  point  of  sufficient  neatness  was  not  interesting  to  him. 
To  change  the  cut  or  sober  color  of  the  garments  to  which 
he  had  become  accustomed  was  something  he  invariably 
shrank  from.  For  the  first  few  moments  in  his  fancy  dress 
—he  had  gone  to  the  Artists'  Festival  to  please  his  sister- 
he  had  felt  like  sinking  through  the  floor  from  the  convic 
tion  that  he  was  making  a  garish  fool  of  himself.  This 
was  the  result  of  taking  a  peep  in  the  drawing-room  mirror 
in  Beacon  Street.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  on  his  arrival  at  the 
studio,  he  had  become  bold  as  a  lion,  joyful  that  for  once 
he  had  left  himself  at  home. 

Mrs.  Sumaer's  house  was  of  brown  stone  and  formal 
looking,  with  tall  windows  guarded  by  a  stone  balcony, 
and  a  flight  of  brownstone  steps.  It  was  substantial  look 
ing,  but  inconspicuous,  being  less  wide  than  some  in  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  69 

same  block — as  became  a  widow  with  three  children — who 
was  comfortably  off,  but  had  no  husband  to  increase  the 
family  possessions.  Her  ambition  was  to  live  like  a  lady 
without  ostentation,  which  met  with  the  approval  of  her 
brother,  Harrison  Chippendale,  who  was  the  trustee  both 
of  the  small  fortune  which  Colonel  Sumner  had  left  and  of 
his  own  patrimony.  Of  course  she  must,  as  a  Chippendale, 
live  with  dignity,  but  within  her  means.  Therefore  it  was 
eminently  fitting  that  she  should  occupy  a  house  which 
could  fairly  be  described  as  modest  in  comparison  with  his 
own  on  Commonwealth  Avenue.  This  was  an  august 
looking  mansion,  but  relieved  by  a  few  light  touches,  re 
vealing  that  the  architect  who  had  planned  it  was  trying 
his  'prentice  hand  fresh  from  Paris  at  the  risk  of  being 
accused  by  those  who  set  the  fashion  of  a  lack  of  serious 
ness  of  purpose.  Harrison  Chippendale  had  the  reputa 
tion  in  the  family  of  being  a  progressive  person,  though  to 
the  world  at  large  he  appeared  a  hide-bound  conservative. 
Flighty  was  the  word  his  brother  Baxter  was  fond  of  apply 
ing  to  him  by  way  of  stricture  on  his  occasional  coquetries 
with  progress.  Baxter,  who  was  still  a  bachelor,  and  their 
maiden  sister  Georgiana,  continued  to  reside  in  separate 
establishments  not  far  from  the  State  House,  preferring  the 
old-fashioned  plumbing  of  Beacon  Hill  to  the  moral 
earth-slides  which  they  associated  with  the  new-made 
land.  When  Harrison  had  moved  down  to  the  Back  Bay, 
and  induced  Eleanor  Sumner  to  do  the  same,  they  had 
regarded  the  departure  as  a  sign  of  undue  restlessness— 
a  speculative  venture  which  only  confirmed  them  in  the 
growing  belief  that  their  brother  was  inclined  to  be  ex 
travagant.  They  had  begun  to  suspect  that  he  was  spend 
ing  his  entire  income.  When  Baxter,  who  was  a  portly, 
thickset  man,  with  a  bald  head  and  reddish  brown-  side 


70  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

whiskers,  beheld  the  new  house  with  its  light  colored  fac 
ings,  he  grunted  by  way  of  passing  judgment  upon  it,  and 
next  day  examined  the  records  at  the  Registry  of  Deeds 
to  ascertain  the  size  of  the  mortgage. 

Henry  Sumner's  mother  was  sitting  up  for  him.  Not  in 
order  to  know  at  what  hour  he  came  home,  but  because 
her  affection  was  provided  with  an  excuse  for  listening  for 
the  stamping  of  his  feet  on  the  door-mat.  Besides,  she 
was  absorbed  in  a  French  novel,  which  she  had  been  able 
to  read  uninterruptedly  after  sending  her  daughters  to 
bed.  Eleanor  Sumner  was  a  refined,  delicate  looking 
woman,  slim  like  her  brother  Harrison — a  regular  Chip 
pendale  in  appearance — whereas  Baxter  and  Georgiana 
resembled  their  mother's  family.  So  frail  was  her  phy 
sique  that  people  declared  at  the  time  of  her  husband's 
death  that  she  would  not  survive  him  long.  Yet  she  had 
lived;  and  though  her  figure  continued  to  suggest  that 
a  breath  would  blow  her  away,  her  friends  had  learned  to 
regard  her  as  tough — which  indeed  she  was — for  her  ner 
vous  system  had  the  flexibility  of  steel.  She  possessed 
repose  of  manner  and  daintiness  in  her  personal  ways. 
She  spoke  French  better  than  her  daughters,  though, 
unlike  them,  she  had  never  been  abroad  until  after  her 
marriage,  and  her  handwriting  had  a  flowing,  graceful 
distinction — shared  with  a  few  of  her  social  acquaintance 
who  had  been  similarly  taught — very  foreign  to  copy-plate 
precision  or  ill-rounded  slovenliness.  She  had  mourned 
for  her  husband  so  truly  and  so  long  that  she  had  not  yet 
reached  the  point  when  she  felt  that  she  could  wear  colors 
again.  She  would  wait  until  the  wedding  day  of  one  of 
her  children.  In  the  meantime  she  wore  plain  silk,  the 
blackness  of  which  was  relieved  by  a  flowing  gold  chain  to 
control  her  glasses. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  71 

"Why,  mother  dear,  are  you  still  up?" 

"It's  only  just  twelve." 

"Another  orgy  of  French  novels  in  the  stilly  night,"  he 
said  playfully,  and,  stooping  to  ascertain  what  she  was 
reading,  kissed  her  fondly  on  the  cheek. 

Though  eager  to  hear  where  he  had  spent  the  evening, 
Mrs.  Sumner  displayed  superior  maternal  tact  by  restrain 
ing  her  curiosity. 

"Your  Uncle  Harrison  has  been  here.  He  was  disap 
pointed  at  not  finding  us  both.  We  talked— about  money 
matters." 

"Money  matters?"  A  sense  of  alarm  mingled  with 
sudden  self-reproach  succeeded  Henry's  astonishment. 
There  was  evidently  exceptional  meaning  in  his  mother's 
words,  or  she  would  not  have  broached  a  subject  rarely 
referred  to  between  them,  except  on  the  quarter  day  when 
his  share  of  the  income  from  the  trust  fund  was  paid  over 
to  him.  He  had  seen  fit  to  leave  everything  to  her— or 
rather,  to  his  uncle,  in  whom  he  had  implicit  confidence— 
and  to  remain  deliberately  uninformed  concerning  the 
state  of  the  family  property.  He  had  but  the  vaguest  idea 
as  to  how  much  it  was  and  as  to  how  it  was  invested. 

"Is  there  anything  wrong?"  he  asked. 

"It's  something  about  the  Warrior  Mills.  It  appears 
they  haven't  earned  as  much  as  usual,  and  the  family  own 
a  good  many  of  the  shares.  The  dividend  has  been  cut  in 
halves,  and  your  Uncle  Harrison  intimated  that  we  shall 
have  to  be  more  careful  what  we  spend.  But  he  thinks 
women  do  not  understand  business  matters,  and  he  wishes 
to  talk  to  you." 

"I  will  go  to  see  him  to-morrow.  Why,  I  supposed  we 
were  rich,  mother.  I  took  for  granted— 

She  understood  from  his  look  of  dismay  that  he  was 


72  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

heaping  reproach  upon  himself,,  and  putting  out  her  hand, 
she  drew  him  down  beside  her  on  the  sofa  within  the  influ 
ence  of  the  smouldering  fire.  "I  don't  understand  that  it 
is  serious;  he  hopes  the  reduction  is  only  temporary.  It's 
my  fault,  dear,  not  yours,  that  you  are  ignorant  of  our 
affairs.  I  wished  you  to  drink  as  long  and  as  deeply  as 
possible  at  the  Pierian  Spring  without  distraction  from 
practical  concerns.  Besides,  your  uncle  is  the  head  of  the 
family  and  has  our  interests  at  heart." 

"  But  a  man  at  my  age  has  no  right  not  to  know  how  his 
own  money — to  say  nothing  of  his  mother's  and  sisters' 
money — is  invested.  I  have  been  a  dolt — a  dreamer." 

"I  loved  to  have  you  dream,  and  you  will  never  be  a 
dolt.  But  perhaps  the  time  has  come  for  you  to  take  your 
father's  place." 

Henry  winced,  then  threw  up  his  head  proudly.  He 
glanced  around  the  cosey  room,  as  if  he  were  making  a  new 
inventory  of  his  surroundings.  Two  low  reading  lamps 
threw  soft  light  on  the  rich  red  rug,  on  the  deep  blue  up 
holsteries  and  the  yellow  and  black  curtains,  on  the  young 
Augustus  in  marble  and  a  flying  Mercury  in  bronze.  The 
latter  figure  had  ever  seemed  to  Henry  to  personate  the 
desire  and  the  power  to  aspire. 

"But,  mother,  I  sometimes  think  I  have  the  clumsiest 
mind  of  any  man  alive!" 

Her  intelligence  divined  that  such  complete  self-disgust 
had  not  been  evoked  solely  by  what  appeared  on  the  sur 
face.  Again  she  restrained  herself  from  asking,  "Where 
have  you  passed  the  evening?  At  the  Averys's?" 

From  several  indirect  sources  she  had  learned  of  his 
friendship  with  Priscilla,  and,  though  it  had  never  occurred 
to  her  that  he  was  thinking  of  marrying  the  girl — he  was 
too  immature  for  so  serious  a  step— she  suspected  that  his 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  73 

heart  was  temporarily  engaged.  Therefore,  though  she 
bridled  her  tongue,  her  smile  was  almost  arch.  "You  can 
scarcely  expect  me  to  assent  to  that.  To  underrate  one's 
self  is  almost  as  fatal  as  the  other  extreme.  In  the  morn 
ing  you  will  view  this  matter  less  tragically."  So  saying, 
she  swept  back  his  forelock  which  hung  low  on  his  brow 
—he  had  been  dilatory  in  having  his  hair  cut — and  looking 
into  his  eyes  kissed  him.  "Go  to  bed,  you  conscientious 
boy!" 

When,  on  entering  the  house  he  had  found  his  mother 
alone,  it  had  occurred  to  Henry  to  give  her  a  hint  as  to 
what  the  morrow  might  bring  forth  and  invite  her  blessing 
on  his  hopes.  But  his  uncle's  words  had  not  only  opened 
his  eyes  to  his  own  neglect,  but  thrown  a  new  shadow  across 
his  matrimonial  prospects.  Could  he  afford  to  marry? 
This  would  be  made  clearer  after  he  had  conferred  with 
his  uncle.  Consideration  of  this  point,  however,  he  thrust 
sternly  aside,  though  conscious  of  a  pang — his  tense  air 
betrayed  this— because  his  keen  sense  of  duty  was  ouick 
to  perceive  that  it  might  clash  with  an  absolute  obligation. 
This  obligation  he  now  felt  a  glowing  need  to  define  in 
words  before  he  said  good-night,  since  it  gave  him  an 
opportunity  to  trample  ruthlessly  on  his  own  happiness. 

"If  it  is  necessary  to  be  careful  what  we  spend,  it  must 
be  I,  not  you,  mother.  I  shall  not  allow  you  to  change 
your  mode  of  living.  I  will  go  to  work  and  make  money. 
That,  you  know,"  he  added  with  an  exalted  smile,  "is  what 
my  father  would  expect  me  to  do." 

Mrs.  Sumner  did  not  contradict  her  son.  She  under 
stood  his  mood  and  that  it  would  be  useless  to  oppose  him 
at  the  moment  even  if  she  desired  to  do  so.  She  was  proud 
of  him,  too;  his  joy  in  his  self-sacrifice  reminded  her  of 
her  husband — there  was  the  same  eager  sensitiveness  to 


74  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

the  call  of  duty.  And  was  he  not  right  ?  If  the  family  in 
come  were  curtailed,  the  burden  of  supplementing  it 
should  fall  properly  on  him,  even  though  he  might  be 
transformed  from  a  scholar  into  a  man  of  affairs.  The  girls 
were  not  yet  married— they  might  never  be— and  at  least, 
it  was  important  for  their  sake  to  avoid  serious  economies. 
As  to  Henry's  flirtation — if  there  were  anything  serious  in 
that — might  not  this  interruption  be  the  welcome  means 
of  nipping  it  in  the  bud  ? 

"I  see  your  side;  but  we  won't,  my  dear  boy,  discuss  the 
matter  further  to-night,"  she  said,  rising  from  the  sofa 
and  extinguishing  the  lamp  nearest  to  her.  "And  avoid 
deciding  anything  in  your  own  mind  until  you  have  talked 
with  your  uncle." 

She  was  fond  of  analyzing  her  mental  processes,  and 
when,  later,  in  her  chamber  she  viewed  these  reflections, 
she  ascribed  them  to  the  workings  of  the  Baxter  blood — 
her  mother  had  been  a  Baxter  of  Salem — for  the  Chippen 
dales  were,  in  their  own  estimation,  essentially  idealists. 
Had  she  herself  not  plighted  her  troth  to  the  colonel  of 
a  negro  regiment  ?  But  she  saw  no  reason  to  regret  that 
she  had  let  Henry  perceive  that  she  was  not  certain  to 
refuse  his  utilitarian  sacrifice.  He  was  as  the  apple  of  her 
eye,  and  his  rectitude  delighted  her,  but  obviously  he  stood 
in  need  of  practical  training.  Nor  was  she  averse  to  have 
him  think  twice  before  he  decided  to  immure  himself  as 
a  Professor  of  Greek.  She  had  not  frowned  on  that  incli 
nation—on  the  contrary,  she  had  been  proud  of  his  impulse 
to  become  a  scholar— and  yet  she  wished  him  to  be  sure 
that  his  ambition  would  not  later  feel  itself  circumscribed 
by  the  choice.  Would  his  transcendental  proclivities  be 
satisfied  by  a  life  of  research  and  contemplation  ? 

Henry  Sumner  went  to  see  his  uncle  the  following  day 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  75 

in  time  for  luncheon.  In  Boston  it  would  not  be  necessary 
to  describe  the  lineage  of  either  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Harrison 
Chippendale.  All  simon-pure  Bostonians  know  their 
genealogies  by  heart.  But  we  are  not  all  simon-pure  Bos 
tonians.  Harrison  Chippendale,  the  great-grandfather  of 
him  whose  family  tree  we  are  about  to  gaze  at,  was  a  cop 
persmith,  now  and  then  euphemistically  referred  to  by  his 
aristocratic  descendants  as  a  worker  in  precious  metals. 
In  this  country  conditions  shift  so  rapidly,  as  we  all  know, 
that  it  is  nothing  uncommon  for  a  mender  of  pots  and 
pans  in  one  generation  to  be  dining  off  gold  vessels  in  the 
next.  But  gradual  ancestral  progress,  such  as  that  which 
we  are  called  on  to  consider,  is  more  convincing.  The 
second  Harrison,  starting  as  a  clerk,  presently  became  a 
supercargo,  who  nmde  long  voyages  to  China  and  the  Indies 
and  laid  by  something  for  a  rainy  day.  This,  in  the  grip  of 
his  son  of  the  same  name,  became  a  fortune — as  fortunes 
were  estimated  at  that  day.  He  was  one  of  the  successful 
merchants  of  his  time— this  father  of  our  Harrison— 
a  pioneer  in  cotton  and  woolen  manufacture  and  an  under 
writer  of  maritime  insurance  risks  on  State  Street.  His 
wife/  a  Miss  Baxter  of  Salem — what  more  need  be  said 
than  this  ? — was  the  daughter  of  another  money-bags  who 
was  part  owner  of  a  flotilla  of  clipper  ships  on  some  of 
which  were  brought  home  the  stock  of  choice  Madeira 
found  in  his  wine  bins. 

The  children  of  this  couple  were  four  in  number:  Har 
rison,  Eleanor,  the  widowed  mother  of  Henry  Sumner, 
Georgiana  and  Baxter,  who,  like  his  sister,  had  remained 
single.  Their  inheritance,  which  came  to  them  snugly  in- 
vestec  in  the  shares  of  New  England  factories,  insurance 
companies  and  banks,  had  amounted  in  all  to  some 
$1,000,000,  about  $250,000  apiece,  and  served  in  the  opin- 


76  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ion  of  their  contemporaries  to  place  the  fortunate  possessors 
high  in  the  class  of  those  privileged  to  live  on  the  income 
of  their  principal. 

Of  Harrison  it  may  be  said  that  to  his  friends  and 
acquaintances  there  was  no  more  courteous  gentleman  in 
town.  He  was  not  demonstrative;  what  simon-pure  Bos- 
tonian  is?  But  he  was  uniformly  urbane,  if  dignified,  in 
the  society  of  people  whom  he  knew.  Toward  strangers 
his  instinctive  attitude  was  one  of  reserve;  social  caution 
it  may  be  termed.  If,  at  the  fashionable  club  to  which  he 
belonged,  he  beheld  a  stranger,  he  would,  perhaps,  not 
actually  scowl,  but  at  the  first  opportunity,  he  would  be 
sure  to  inquire  behind  his  newspaper,  "Who  is  that?"  in 
a  tone  which  said  only  too  plainly  "What  the  devil  is  he 
doing  here?"  Doubtless  constitutional  diffidence  had 
much  to  do  with  this  aloofness  of  demeanor,  for  Mr.  Chip 
pendale  was  by  no  means  lacking  in  hospitality  and  good 
fellowship  on  other  occasions;  but  shyness  affects  different 
people  in  different  ways.  An  unwritten— perhaps  an  un 
conscious— law  of  his  being  was  that  he  did  not  care  to  know 
many  people.  Did  he  not  know  intimately  the  best  in 
Boston  already  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Chippendale  was  not  untrav- 
elled.  As  a  young  man  after  graduation  from  Harvard 
he  had  "seen"  Europe  and  had  then  acquired  what  he,  at 
least,  regarded  as  a  knowing  familiarity  with  the  institu 
tions  and  customs  of  France  by  persistent  reading  of 
French  novels,  a  hundred  of  which  he  possessed  bound  in 
half ^  calf.  He  had  made  other  trips  from  time  to  time  to 
foreign  parts,  and  he  aimed  to  keep  in  touch  with  old 
world  interests  by  careful  perusal  of  the  local  eclectic  miscel 
lany,  "Littell's  Living  Age,"  composed  of  articles  from 
European  magazines.  On  his  return  from  the  Civil  War 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  77 

he  had  married,  and,  believing  himself  to  be  rich  beyond 
the  dreams  of  Boston  avarice,  he  had  settled  down  to  the 
serious  duties  consequent  upon  bringing  up  his  family, 
preserving  his  health,  looking  after  his  property  and  culti 
vating  his  mind.  Incidentally  he  interested  himself  in 
charities  and  private  theatricals  and  kept  an  eye  on  the 
Common— to  preserve  its  integrity.  He  waged  war  on  local 
pests  like  the  English  sparrows  and  the  dust  on  the  Back 
Bay  through  letters  to  the  Transcript,  and  took  a  feverishly 
passive  part  in  politics.  Feverishly  passive  because  his 
political  convictions,  though  positive  and  even  vindictive 
in  their  quality,  rarely,  if  ever,  operated  beyond  the  ballot 
box  in  which  he  deposited  his  single  ticket.  Sometimes 
they  stopped  short  of  this,  if  it  were  inconvenient  to  vote, 
or  if  peculiarly  unhappy  nominations  by  both  political 
parties  had  left  him  more  than  usually  hopeless  in  regard 
to  the  future  destinies  of  the  nation.  A  secret  ambition  of 
his  reserved  nature  was  that  he  might  be  sent  to  Congress 
—one  which  he  never  confided  even  to  his  wife.  The 
spontaneous  proffer  of  the  nomination  by  the  people  of  the 
Congressional  District  would  have  pleased  him  greatly 
and  would  have  seemed  to  him  intelligent  recognition  of 
his  latent  capacity  for  public  service.  Yet  he  would  have 
been  the  first  to  tell  you  that  in  this  he  cherished  a  vain 
hope  and  that,  save  in  the  case  of  genius  and  not  always 
then,  it  was  necessary  to  scramble  for  or  purchase  office 
under  a  Republican  form  of  government. 

Against  the  gray  background  of  this  somewhat  cynical 
attitude  of  mind — the  gray  background,  too,  of  his  daily 
wardrobe,  for  Harrison  Chippendale,  like  most  of  his 
friends,  wore  sober  blacks  and  drabs  and  avoided  novelties 
or  extravagances  in  dress — stood  the  ideals  of  the  man, 
none  the  less  genuine  because  intuitive  and  not  reduced 


78  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

formally  to  a  system;  none  the  less  living  because  the 
casual  observer  was  not  always  able  to  identify  them. 
What  glorified  his  vision  and  reconciled  him  to  the  more 
or  less  deliberate  inactivity  of  his  middle  life  was  the  fact 
that  he  had  served  his  country  in  the  Civil  War  and  that 
he  bore  the  scars  of  an  honorable  wound.  This  experience 
had  been  his  opportunity — the  obvious  answer  to  the 
question  which  the  New  England  conscience  of  that  day 
demanded  of  every  true  Bostonian — not  "what  shall  I  do 
to  be  saved?" — perish  the  thought! — but  "what  shall  I 
do  in  order  to  do  something?"  There  is  no  need  for  us 
to  inquire  what  Harrison  Chippendale  would  have  done 
had  fate  not  provided  so  enviable  a  background.  As  he 
walked  the  streets  henceforth,  dignified  and  irreproachable 
in  his  silk  hat  and  lustreless  but  well-fitting  clothes,  the 
substance  of  the  poet's  thought  was  a  part  of  his  sub- 
consciousness  : 

"They  come  transfigured  back 
Secure  from  change  in  their  high-hearted  ways, 
Beautiful  evermore,  and  with  the  rays 
Of  morn  on  their  white  shields  of  expectation." 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  the  tranquillity  of  spirit  thus 
engendered  did  not  blind  Harrison  Chippendale  to  the 
need  of  fulfilling  rigorously  another  obligation — no  less 
a  part  of  his  creed  as  a  true  Bostonian — which  was  to 
gauge  with  discernment  the  things  which  he — and  hence 
a  gentleman — would  not  do;  a  sort  of  mellowed  Calvin- 
Jfem  which  drew  the  line  on  gaudy  pleasures  and  on  equiv 
ocal  compromises  with  honor.  For  such  lapses  he  had 
only  a  cold  frown  or  a  stern  shake  of  the  head,  as  if  he  felt 
himself  on  guard  to  preserve  hallowed  traditions  from 
violation.  What  a  Bostonian  will  not  do  has  ever  been, 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  79 

perhaps,  his  highest  title  to  distinction.  Yet  he  was  an 
overseer  of  Harvard  College  and  a  director  of  the  Boston 
Art  Museum. 

At  this  date  Harrison  Chippendale  had  been  living  on 
Commonwealth  Avenue  for  nearly  ten  years.  During  this 
period  his  family  of  five  bad  grown  from  children  into  young 
women  and  young  men,  and  he  suddenly  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  realization  that  the  income  of  his  princi 
pal  was  barely  sufficient  for  their  needs.  Not  only  was 
the  price  of  everything,  from  rent  and  servants  to  beef  and 
eggs,  advancing  steadily,  but  new  demands  upon  his  purse 
were  being  constantly  levied  on  the  plea  that  they  were 
absolutely  indispensable  to  a  family  in  the  position  which 
his  occupied.  With  three  daughters  in  society,  Chauncey 
at  Harvard,  and  Arthur  at  a  private  school,  with  a  house 
on  Commonwealth  Avenue  and  a  summer  residence  on 
the  North  shore,  with  saddle  horses,  club  and  pew  assess 
ments  and  annual  donations  to  charity,  he  had  begun  to 
ask  himself  feverishly  where  he  was  coming  out  ?  Two  of 
his  girls  might  never  marry — was  not  Aunt  Georgiana 
ominously  in  point  ? — and  if  so,  they  must  be  provided  for. 
The  thought  of  leaving  his  daughters  without  the  means 
to  live  as  they  had  been  accustomed  haunted  him  in  the 
watches  of  the  night.  For  not  only  was  his  income  insuf 
ficient,  but  his  principal  appeared  to  be  in  danger  of  shrink 
ing.  The  snares  of  some  of  the  cotton  and  woolen  mills 
which  he  had  been  brought  up  to  regard  as  gilt-edged  in 
vestments  were  reported  to  be  shrivelling  up  in  the  fire  of 
competition  and  were  passing  their  dividends.  His  own 
shares  and  also  those  belonging  to  his  nephew,  Henry 
Sumner,  of  whom  he  was  the  guardian  and  trustee.  Here 
was  a  fresh  source  of  anxiety,  for  his  sister  had  two  daugh 
ters  as  well  as  this  only  son,  so  that  the  affairs  of  two  fami- 


SO  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

lies  were  virtually  on  his  shoulders.  In  short,  taking  one 
thing  with  another,  he  felt  worried,  and  being  touched  in 
his  pocket  he  was  touched  in  his  pride,  for  though  he  re 
garded  in  the  abstract  money  as  dross  and  a  mere  means 
to  an  end,  he  had  always  until  recently  had  more  than  he 
knew  what  to  do  with.  Besides,  it  galled  him  to  think 
that  while  he  was  growing  poorer,  his  bachelor  brother, 
Baxter,  and  his  spinster  sister  had  been  waxing  in  riches. 
To  be  sure,  this  might  redound  eventually  to  the  advantage 
of  his  children;  but  who  could  tell  ?  His  relations  with  his 
brother  and  sister  were  not  unfriendly,  yet  no  one  of  the 
three  was  apt  to  agree  with  either  of  the  others  on  any 
subject.  All  the  Chippendales  were  peculiar,  and  he  held 
no  assurance  against  a  kst  will  by  either  or  both  of  them 
in  favor  of  a  hospital  or  of  Harvard  College.  Moreover, 
the  Chippendales  were  traditionally  long-lived. 

Baxter  and  Georgiana  might  well  live  to  be  ninety 
without  providing  just  grounds  for  resentment  to  their 
heirs.  In  this  connection,  if  it  be  said  that  Harrison  Chip 
pendale,  under  the  stress  of  perplexities,  was  tempted  to 
pry  into  the  future  further  than  true  family  delicacy  per 
mits,  it  will  doubtless  be  agreed  that  the  clouds  upon  his 
immediate  horizon  furnished  some  excuse  for  it. 

In  person  he  was  tall,  slim  and  erect,  with  a  thin,  pointed 
nose,  and  a  slight  goatee  which  he  had  worn  since  his  first 
trip  to  Europe.  His  walk  was  elastic,  but  deliberate. 
Fashions  might  change,  but  he  was  always  faithful  to  a 
silk  hat  on  week  days  as  well  as  Sundays  and  holidays— 
neatly  brushed  and  annually  exchanged  for  a  fresh  one 
persistently  moulded  on  the  same  pattern,  the  distin 
guishing  feature  of  which  was  a  flatter  brim  than  that 
usually  worn.  Regular  as  clock-work  in  his  leisurely  hab 
its,  he  was  a  familiar  and  dignified  figure  on  his  walks  to 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  81 

and  from  State  Street — he  had  no  business,  but  he  went 
down  town  for  an  hour  about  noon — by  way  of  the  Athe 
naeum  Library,  where  he  stopped  almost  daily  to  browse 
among  the  new  books. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HENRY  repaired  to  his  Uncle  Harrison's  house  the  fol 
lowing  day  in  time  for  luncheon.  From  the  bay  window 
his  approach  along  Commonwealth  Avenue  was  visible  to 
the  assembled  family.  They  were  all  there — for  Chauncey 
had  come  in  from  Cambridge  to  pass  Sunday.  It  was  he 
who  spied  his  cousin  half  a  block  away. 

"There's  Henry  Sumner,"  he  said.  "I  wonder  why  he 
considers  that  little  round  felt  hat  of  his  harmonizes  with 
a  frock  coat.  I  think  he's  coming  in." 

Mrs.  Chippendale  sighed.  She  was  fond  of  her  nephew 
and  always  glad  to  see  him,  but  her  sigh  echoed  the  family 
judgment  that,  though  good  as  gold,  Henry  was  queer; 
that  he  liked  queer  people  and  was  prone  to  entertain  im 
possible  opinions  in  regard  to  established  conventions. 
He  would  be  sure  to  inquire  whether  an  invitation  for  her 
daughter  Georgiana's  coming  out  ball  had  been  sent  to  a 
Miss  Priscilla  Avery  and  her  step-sister,  for  he  had  written 
her  a  note  requesting  this  favor,  which  she  had  put  off 
answering. 

"  Come,  girls,  we  must  decide  definitely  one  way  or  the 
other  before  he  comes  up-stairs,"  she  said  with  a  worried  air. 

Let  not  the  radical  or  righteous  fly  hastily  to  the  con 
clusion  that  this  was  so  simple  a  request  to  grant  as  at 
first  sight  appears.  It  was  their  plan  to  have  this  ball,  the 
expenses  of  which  Aunt  Georgiana  Chippendale  was  to 


82  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

defray  in  honor  of  her  namesake,  a  fashionable  and  not 
too  crowded  affair.  Neither  of  Mrs.  Chippendale's  other 
daughters  had  been  a  conspicuous  social  success.  More 
than  once  she  had  been  compelled  to  bring  one  or  the  other 
in  a  brand  new  Parisian  dress  home  immediately  after 
supper  because  the  poor  girl  lacked  a  partner  for  the  cotil 
lon.  Margaret,  the  eldest,  was  a  silent  girl  in  society, 
much  interested  in  charities;  Dorothy  was  rather  plain 
and  an  awkward  dancer.  The  girls  seemed  to  accept  philo 
sophically  their  failure  to  arouse  general  admiration,  but 
the  consciousness  was  mortifying  to  their  mother  and  had 
got  a  little  on  her  nerves.  They  might  never  be  married, 
even  though  it  was  said  by  the  consoling  that  plain  girls 
were  liable  to  be  married  soonest.  But  Georgiana,  the 
youngest,  bid  fair  to  become  a  social  success.  Everything 
pointed  this  way,  and  Mrs.  Chippendale  was  anxious  to 
avoid  any  false  step.  Two  extra  girls  would  tend  to  crowd 
the  ball  when  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  harrowing 
dimensions  of  her  regular  visiting  list  and  requests  which 
she  had  already  received  for  numerous  New  York  and 
Philadelphia  girls.  Moreover,  her  son  Chauncey  had  in 
timated  that  there  might  be  a  shortage  of  men  owing  to  the 
fact  that  the  night  which  had  been  chosen  was  the  eve  of 
one  of  the  Harvard  examinations.  Too  many  women  for 
the  supply  of  partners  would  be  disastrous.  Besides,  what 
kind  of  girls  were  these  whom  Henry  wished  to  include  ? 
His  taste  was  not  to  be  relied  on.  No  wonder  she  felt 
worried ;  for  she  disliked  to  refuse  him. 

"I  thought  we  had  decided  not  to  ask  them,"  spoke  up 
Georgiana.  "It  ought  to  be  sufficient  that  they  wouldn't 
know  anybody." 

"Except  Henry,"  remarked  Dorothy,  to  whom  no  one 
had  ever  been  assiduously  devoted  and  who  occasionally 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  83 

broke  water  with  a  sly  sarcasm  as  a  fish  will  now  and  then 
poke  its  head  above  the  surface  to  the  surprise  of  the  on 
lookers. 

"Whom  she  sees  constantly,"  said  their  mother.  "If  it 
were  anybody  but  Henry,"  she  continued  solicitously,  "I 
could  make  him  understand,  but  he — he  will  take  it  as  a 
personal  matter.  He  will  impugn  my  motives;  he  will 
think  we  are  snobbish.  If  it  were  not  to  be  a  small  ball,  of 
course  I  should  be  glad  to  send  them  invitations.  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  again  who  they  are,"  she  added,  ad 
dressing  her  eldest  son. 

"He  will  impugn  your  motives  fast  enough,"  responded 
Chauncey.  "  One  of  the  girls — Henry's  girl — is  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  scientific  man  who's  trying  to  invent  something, 
and  whose  home  was  in  Cambridge  until  his  second  wife 
married  him.  The  other  is  her  daughter — they  are  from 
the  west — and  they  all  live  on  Dartmouth  Street  beyond 
Huntington  Avenue,  where  the  present  Mrs.  Avery  has 
Bohemian  Saturday  evenings  at  which  Henry  is  a  fre 
quent  attendant.  I  was  told  by  a  man  who  was  there  not 
long  ago  that  both  the  girls  are  good  looking,  and  he  inti 
mated  that  Henry  was  pretty  far  gone  on  Miss  Priscilla 
Avery.  Some  fine  morning  we  may  wake  up  and  find  that 
they  have  been  married  at  King's  Chapel." 

Chauncey  had  his  father's  pointed  nose,  but  a  round, 
placid  and.rather  jocular  face  which  expressed  shrewd 
ness  and  amiability.  He  was  good  looking  without  being 
effeminate.  What  was  most  noticeable  in^his  personal  ap 
pearance  perhaps  was  its  nicety,  a  sort  of  repressed  but 
undisguisable  elegance,  a  walking  rebuke  both  to  sloven 
liness  and  ostentation.  Everything  about  him  was  neat, 
from  the  cut  of  his  hair  and  the  twist  of  his  modest  necktie 
to  the  bottoms  of  his  trousers,  which  were  turned  up  for  no 


84  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

manifest  reason,  yet  the  folds  were  smoothly  ironed. 
Abroad  his  manner  was  not  so  distant  as  his  father's,  yet 
was  restrained  in  tone,  suggesting — which  was  indeed  the 
case — that  he  deplored  as  vulgar  all  extravagances  of  speech 
or  gesture.  But  at  home  and  among  his  friends  he  had  a 
lively  way  with  him.  He  was  of  good  height,  but  shorter 
and  stockier  than  his  father,  taking  more  after  his  moth 
er's  family — the  Floyds — who  had  been  a  less  nervous  race 
than  the  Chippendales.  His  mother,  as  Miss  Margaret 
Floyd,  had  been  a  beauty  in  her  day,  and  Chauncey  and 
Georgiana  among  her  children  had  inherited  much  of  her 
good  looks.  Arthur,  the  other  son,  a  youth  of  fourteen, 
promised  to  grow  up  tall  and  slim  like  her  husband.  The 
eldest  child  of  all,  Harrison,  Jr.,  had  died  in  early  infancy, 
and  Chauncey  had  been  named  after  his  maternal  grand 
father,  old  Deacon  Chauncey  Floyd,  who,  for  nearly  half 
a  century,  was  "Treasurer  of  the  Pilgrim  Institution  for 
Savings  in  the  town  of  Boston." 

The  three  girls  smiled  knowingly  at  this  matrimonial 
forecast,  but  Mrs.  Chippendale  promptly  shuddered. 

"I  wonder  if  your  Aunt  Eleanor  has  her  eyes  open  to 
what  is  going  on,"  she  murmured. 

Here  her  husband  interposed  with,  "What  is  that  you 
say,  Chauncey  ?  Married  ?  Henry  married  ?  To  whom, 
pray?" 

"Miss  Priscilla  Avery,  formerly  of  Cambridge,  art  stu 
dent." 

"Priscilla  who?  I  suppose  you  are  guying  me,  young 
man,"  he  asserted  with  an  indulgent  smile  at  his  son.  He 
did  not  always  understand  the  humor  of  his  children,  but 
was  not  averse  to  being  practised  on  within  the  bounds  of 
due  filial  respect. 

"All  I  know,  father,  is  that  she's  a  pretty  girl  and  that 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  85 

Henry  is  said  to  be  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  her. 
As  to  matrimony,  seeing  that  Henry  is  Henry,  I  shouldn't 
be  a  bit  surprised  at  anything." 

"Your  information — gossip  shall  I  call  it? — comes  in 
the  nick  of  time,  for  I  sent  for  Henry  to— to  talk  to  him 
about  something  else.  It  costs  money  nowadays  to  main 
tain  a  wife." 

"He's  coming  up-stairs,"  exclaimed  Margaret  in  a  stage 

whisper. 

"Stand  firm,  mama;  I  don't  want  them,"  said  Georgi- 
ana  by  way  of  caution.  She  was  a  vivacious,  quick-witted 
girl,  with  a  slim,  graceful  figure.  Her  small  bird-like  head 
was  crowned  with  brown  hair,  and  her  eyes  when  in  re 
pose  had  the  soft  refinement  of  a  doe.  She  possessed  that 
same  physical  nicety  which  distinguished  her  brother 
Chauncey. 

"Oh,  yes,  but  I  despair  of  being  able  to  make  him 
understand." 

"I'm  going  to  try  and  get  him  to  confide  in  me,"  said 
Dorothy,  with  a  little  laugh.  "It  seems  to  be  true  ro 
mance  and  it's  the  first  in  the  family." 

"Don't  you  get  mixed  up  in  it,  child,"  Mrs.  Chippen 
dale  had  only  time  to  utter  before  her  nephew  appeared. 

The  greetings  were  affectionate  and  at  the  first  pause 
the  visitor  said  to  his  uncle,  "I  was  sorry  to  miss  you  last 
night,  Uncle  Harrison." 

"And  where  were  you  gallivanting,  young  man?" 

The  inquiry  was  purely  casual,  but  the  rest  of  the  fam 
ily  pricked  up  their  ears  for  the  response. 

There  was  an  instant  of  embarrassed  hesitation  on 
Henry's  part  before  he  answered,  "I  was  passing  the  even 
ing  with  some  friends." 

This  ambiguity  caused  Mr.  Chippendale  to  remember. 


86  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

It  is  a  theory  of  mature  years  that  what  is  called  calf  love 
can  often  be  eradicated  by  felicitous  banter.  He  proceeded 
to  deal  his  nephew  a  humorous  body  blow  without  relax 
ing  a  muscle  of  his  countenance. 

"You  neglected  to  tell  us  of  what  sex  your  friends  were." 

Henry  blushed.  He  observed  that  his  three  girl  cousins 
were  smiling.  Realizing  that  he  was  at  bay,  he  said  stur 
dily,  "Why,  Uncle  Harrison,  I  was  at  Mrs.  Avery's  on 
Dartmouth  Street,  and  my  particular  friend  there  is  Mrs. 
Avery's  step-daughter,  Miss  Priscilla  Avery.  I  wish  you 
all  to  know  her,"  he  continued  looking  from  one  to  an 
other.  "I'm  sure  you  would  admire  her  immensely." 

"Chauncey  says  she's  very  pretty,"  said  Margaret,  who 
was  a  conscientious  girl  and  wished  to  ameliorate  the  sit 
uation  for  her  cousin  so  far  as  was  compatible  with  exact 
truth. 

"That's  only  hearsay,"  said  her  brother.  "I  haven't 
seen  her.  But  we're  on  to  your  curves,  Henry.  Don't 
think  you've  been  telling  us  something  startlingly  novel. 
You  may  not  credit  your  family  with  more  than  ordinary 
intelligence,  but  we're  not  purblind  and  stone  deaf.  The 
latest  rumor  is  that  her  father  has  asked  you  your  inten 
tions." 

"Oh,  Chauncey!"  murmured  his  mother,  appalled  yet 
convulsed  by  her  eldest  son's  witticism.  "Don't  mind 
what  he  says,  Henry,  dear." 

"I  don't  in  the  least,"  replied  the  victim  with  bright- 
eyed  alacrity.  "I  don't  mind  adding — 

"Intentions?  Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Harrison. 
"At  your  age,  Henry,  a  young  man  may  without  impro 
priety  have  a  sweetheart — a  best  girl  I  believe  you  call  it 
nowadays — in  every  street.  Who  is  her  father?  Avery? 
Avery?  I  don't  recall  any  Avery." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  87 

"Not  Henry,  I'm  sure.  He  is  of  the  constant  kind," 
Dorothy  interposed  softly  and  obtained  thereby  a  grateful 
glance  from  her  cousin.  It  did  not  suit  her  to  have  the 
good  faith  of  the  first  family  romance  called  in  question  by 
any  such  fast  and  loose  interpretation. 

"I  was  only  metaphorical  about  the  ' intentions,'" 
Chauncey  hastened  to  explain  for  his  father's  benefit,  but 
this  did  not  prevent  Henry  from  answering  the  question. 

"Gideon  Avery.  He's  a  Harvard  graduate  and— er— - 
a  scientific  investigator.  Recently  he  has  married  again 
and  moved  to  Boston.  But  before  that  he  lived  a  very  re 
tired  life  in  Cambridge,  where  his  energies  were  devoted 

to " 

"Avery?    There  was,  I  think,  a  man  of  that  name  in 

my  regiment." 

"Mr.  Gideon  Avery  went  through  the  war,  sir." 
"But  he  has  never  been  to  the  army  reunions.    I  have 
not  seen  him  for  twenty  years.    I  should  not  know  him 
to-day."    This  conclusion  was  evidently  a  serious  reproach 
in  the  speaker's  eyes. 

"He  has  lived  very  much  out  of  the  world,  Uncle  Har 
rison,  for  he  has  been  absorbed  in  experiments  which  thus 

far .    He  knows  General  Horatio  Langdon,  the  banker, 

who  has  interested  himself  in  his  inventions,  I  believe." 

"Then  it's  the  man,  of  course.    Langdon  was  Mir  colo 
nel,  you  know,  and  subsequently  our  brigadier.    I  think 
I  can  place  him  now— a  dreamy-eyed  man  with  rather  a 
Sto0p_a  fine  face,  if  I  remember  aright.    I  wonder  why 
he  has  never  turned  up  at  any  of  the  reunions.    If  so,  I 
might  be  able  to  tell  you  more  definitely  about  him." 
"I  imagine  he  has  not  been  very  well  off." 
"Ah!    Very  likely.    An  inventor?"    The  suggestion  of 
straightened  circumstances  not  only  recalled  to  Mr.  Chip- 


88  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

pendale  the  real  point  which  he  desired  to  discuss  with  his 
nephew,  but  brought  back  the  shadow  of  that  from  which 
he  had  supposed  himself  secure  for  life — the  possibility  of 
personal  financial  worry.  His  sister  had  fortunately  taken 
upon  her  shoulders  the  burden  of  Georgiana's  coming  out 
ball,  but  if  it  were  not  one  thing  in  the  way  of  unexpected 
demands  upon  him,  it  seemed  to  be  another.  "I'm  glad 
you've  come,  Hen^y.  There  are  several  matters  I  wish  to 
talk  over  with  you  after  luncheon,"  he  exclaimed  by  way 
of  postponement.  "Is  not  luncheon  on  the  table,  my 
dear?"  he  inquired  of  his  wife. 

"  It  ought  to  be,"  said  Mrs.  Chippendale,  glancing  at  the 
clock.  While  listening  to  the  dialogue  she  had  been  trying 
to  frame  a  refusal  which  would  not  wound  her  nephew's 
sensibilities.  Now  she  heard  him  declare  with  the  air  of 
one  who,  having  found  that  his  secret  is  no  secret,  sees  fit 
not  merely  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  but  to  glory  in  his 
infatuation 

"As  the  subject  has  come  up — and  you  seem  to  have 
heard  it  spoken  of — I  don't  mind  saying  that  I  am  in  love 
with  Priscilla  Avery.  She's  my  ideal  of  all  a  woman  ought 
to  be,  and  if  I  don't  marry  her,  it  won't  be  because  I  don't 
ask  her." 

Henry  spoke  without  a  quaver.  There  was  just  a  touch 
of  defiance  in  his  tone,  due,  perhaps,  to  foreknowledge  of 
the  mirth  which  his  fervent  avowal  would  call  forth  from 
his  cousin  Chauncey.  To  proclaim  his  passion  on  the 
house-tops  was  the  last  thing  which  his  diffident  soul  would 
have  indulged  in  but  for  the  condescension  of  his  family, 
which  had  goaded  him  to  a  point  where  to  be  silent  would 
have  appeared  to  him  craven.  Chauncey  was  on  the 
broad  grin  and  he  heard  the  girls,  though  manifestly  thrilled 
by  such  dramatic  impetuosity,  each  gasp  with  amusement 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  89 

in  her  own  way,  while  he  noticed  that  his  aunt  was  regard 
ing  him  with  an  embarrassment  which  suggested  that  she 
had  doubts  if  he  were  perfectly  sane.  It  was  to  her  that  he 
addressed  the  further  remark— 

"You  will  remember,  Aunt  Margaret,  that  it  was  for 
Miss  Avery  and  her  step-sister,  Miss  Burroughs,  that  I 
wrote  you  the  other  day  for  invitations  for  Georgiana's 
ball." 

The  appearance  of  the  servant  to  announce  luncheon 
was  utilized  as  a  convenient  escape  from  immediate  com 
ment  on  his  ardent  but  dazing  confession  by  every  one  of 
the  family  except  Mr.  Chippendale.  He  clapped  his 
nephew  on  the  shoulder  and  said — casting  a  significant 
glance  in  the  direction  of  his  eldest  son — "I  do  not  object 
to  hear  a  young  man  talk  like  that.  It  may  be  old-fash 
ioned,  but  it  does  credit  to  your  imagination,  Henry.  I  was 
like  that  at  your  age.  I  remember  feeling  sure  that  I  was 
definitely  and  overwhelmingly  in  love;  but — but  the 
young  lady  who  subsequently  did  me  the  honor  to  become 
my  wife  was,  at  that  juncture,  in  her  cradle,  which  I  venture 
to  predict  is  the  present  status  of  the  future  Mrs.  Henry 
Sumner.  Come,  my  dear  boy,  luncheon  is  ready." 

Too  much  stirred  by  the  boldness  of  his  own  perform 
ance  to  take  close  note  of  his  uncle's  speech,  Henry  was 
moving  mechanically  toward  the  dining-room  when  he  be 
came  conscious  that  his  aunt  had  put  her  hand  through  his 
arm  to  detain  him,  and  he  heard  her  exclaim :  "  Henry  and 
I  will  follow  you  directly.  There  is  something  which  I 
wish  to  say  to  him." 

Gentle  and  even  deprecatory  as  she  appeared  in  every 
day  life,  Mrs.  Chippendale,  where  her  offspring  were  con 
cerned,  could  be  uncompromising  as  a  lioness.  Henry's 
declaration  of  his  attachment  for  Miss  Avery  had  made  an 


90  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

immediate  decision  in  the  other  matter  imperative,  and 
between  the  two  claims  she  had  promptly  decided  in  favor 
of  her  daughter.  Her  tone  was  highly  conciliatory,  but 
her  jaws  were  obstinately  set.  "As  to  those  invitations, 
Henry;  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  began.  "Perhaps  you  don't 
know  that  ours  is  to  be  an  unusually  small  ball.  Georgiana 
has  been  obliged  to  leave  out  a  number  of  girk  of  her  own 
acquaintance,  and—  She  felt  him  start  and  look  at  her. 
She  was  prepared  to  be  condemned  by  him,  and  she  did 
not  wince,  but  after  her  pause  set  forth  kindly  and  con 
cisely  the  excellent  reasons  which  she  had  for  her  refusal, 
dwelling  on  the  point  that  the  girls  would  not  know  any 
body  except  him.  "Of  course,"  she  said  in  conclusion, 
"if  you  were  engaged  to  her — I  take  for  granted,  Henry, 
dear,  that  you  are  not  engaged  to  her?" 

"I  have  not  that  honor." 

"In  that  case  she  would  be  virtually  one  of  the  family. 
But  as  it  is— I  do  hope,  Henry,  that  I  make  our  position 
clear  to  you  and  that  I  don't  seem  to  you  unkind." 

"Perfectly  clear  that  you  don't  want  her,  Aunt  Margaret." 

"We  do  want  her;  we  haven't  room  for  her — for  them. 
Remember  there  are  two.  Two  extra  girls  at  a  small  party 
are  an  incumbrance,  and  there — there's  where  you  ought 
to  trust,  if  I  may  say  so,  my  greater  social  experience." 

"They  were  the  only  friends  of  mine  I  asked  you  to  in 
clude.  I  can't  help  feeling—  He  stopped,  but  his  voice 
proclaimed  his  suspicion.  "Then  I  shall  have  to  tell 
them " 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have  already  asked 
them?"  broke  in  Mrs.  Chippendale  with  a  gasp  of  dis 
may,  for  to  her  socially  trained  mind  the  supposition  re 
vealed  an  embarrassing  predicament. 

"I  told  Miss  Avery  the  other  day  that  I  should  ask  you 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  91 

for  an  invitation  and  I  took  for  granted  that  it  would 
include  her  step-sister.  I  admit  that  she  didn't  seem 
elated  at  the  prospect,  and  I  don't  suppose  she'll  care 
much — but  I've  got  to  tell  her  something.  She'll  expect 
me  to  refer  to  it  again."  It  was  clear  that  this  point  was 
already  on  his  conscience.  It  was  clear,  too,  to  his  aunt 
that  he  thought  she  had  excluded  them  solely  because  they 
were  not  fashionable  enough. 

Mrs.  Chippendale  was  also  exercised  by  the  plight  in 
which  he  had  placed  her.  "It's  very  awkward,"  she  ex 
claimed,  her  temper  rising  fast.  "  You'll  have  to  tell  her, 
Henry,  that  the  list  was  closed — that  you  spoke  to  me  too 
late.  I  can't  run  the  risk  of  spoiling  Georgiana's  ball  by 
inviting  them  merely  because  you  have  placed  me  in  a 
false  position." 

Having  spoken  thus  to  the  point  and  clinched  the  situa 
tion,  the  lioness  looked  a  little  as  if  she  were  going  to  weep. 
"Try  to  understand,  Henry,"  she  said.  "You  seem  to 
see  only  your  side.  But  I  have  a  side — Georgiana's  side. 
I  can't  bear  to  have  you  think  that  we  are  unkind."  She 
put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  looked  up  into  his  face 
which  was  doggedly  severe. 

"I  hadn't  strictly  the  right  to  say  anything  about  an  in 
vitation  until  I  had  spoken  to  you,"  he  felt  impelled  to 
state.  "Yet  I  did  suppose 

The  speech  was  dismal  and  left  no  room  to  doubt  that  he 
was  still  perplexed  and  sore.  But  Mrs.  Chippendale  knew 
that  the  worst  was  over  and  she  was  rejoicing  that  she  had 
not  been  persuaded  against  her  will.  She  hurried  her 
nephew  along  toward  the  dining-room  saying  soothingly, 
with  the  desire  of  smoothing  the  matter  out  for  him: 

"I  wouldn't  refer  to  it  to  her  if  I  were  you.  She  will 
think  you  have  forgotten  to  ask." 


92  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

He  stopped  short.  "She'll  know  I  would  never  have 
forgotten,"  he  exclaimed  impetuously.  "Besides,  it's  my 
duty  to  tell  her." 

"Duty?"  echoed  his  aunt.  Then  after  a  moment,  she 
added,  "There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  over-conscientious 
in  dealing  with  small  social  matters.  For  instance,  a  lady 
may  be  lawfully  in  when  her  servant  says  she's  out."  This 
was  a  primary  truth  in  a  social  education,  but  Mrs.  Chip 
pendale  felt  that  she  had  to  deal  with  a  social  ignoramus. 

"Therefore  there's  no  danger  of  my  explaining  to  Miss 
A  very  and  Miss  Burroughs  the  real  reason  why  they  were 
not  invited." 

This  was  so  much  less  direct  than  Henry's  usual  style — 
almost  enigmatic,  in  fact — that  Mrs.  Chippendale,  in  try 
ing  to  conjecture  what  he  did  mean  held  her  peace  until 
they  reached  the  dining-room.  There,  during  their  cous 
in's  absence,  the  youthful  members  of  the  family  had  ex 
ploded.  Whatever  else  the  girls  thought  of  Henry's  per 
formance,  they  agreed  to  Chauncey's  assertion  that  it  was 
a  tremendous  joke.  They  kept  smiling  afresh  to  the  edi 
fication  of  their  brother  Arthur,  who  was  at  the  age  when 
boys  are  apt  to  regard  all  girls  as  silly  things.  Chauncey 
evidently  considered  that  he  had  been  provided  with  the 
means  wherewith  to  make  his  cousin's  life  miserable.  He 
chuckled  with  delight;  but  the  renewal  of  these  sounds, 
after  he  had  ventured  to  repeat  dramatically  under  his 
breath,  "She's  my  ideal  of  all  a  woman  ought  to  be," 
evoked  a  frown  from  his  father  who  declared  the  affair  to 
be  sheer  nonsense  and  Henry's  utterance  mere  impulsive 
ness.  "I'll  nip  in  the  bud  any  present  ideas  which  he  has 
of  marriage  as  soon  as  I  have  the  opportunity  to  talk  to 
him  alone,"  he  stated  majestically.  His  daughters,  whose 
hearing  was  a  little  more  acute,  put  a  finger  to  their  lips  for 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  93 

their  cousin  was  at  hand.  Margaret,  who  had  a  conscien 
tious  aptitude  for  bringing  up  topics  for  conversation  at 
family  meals,  hastened  to  introduce  the  morning  sermon. 
But  Chauncey  was  in  too  radiant  a  mood  to  let  his  victim 
off  so  easily.  When  the  dessert  was  being  served  and  the 
dangerous  subject  appeared  to  be  forgotten,  he  suddenly 
lifted  his  glass  of  claret  and  cried: 

"Well,  here's  to  Mrs.  Henry  Sumner,  whoever  she 
prove  to  be." 

His  sisters  betrayed  again  their  inward  amusement, 
while  his  mother  murmured : 

" Chauncey,  you  are  irrepressible!" 

"That's  a  harmless  sentiment,  surely,"  said  Mr.  Chip 
pendale  blandly.  " '  Whoever  she  prove  to  be. ' ' 

Henry,  whose  spirit  had  crept  back  into  its  shell,  and 
who  was  blushing  inwardly  as  the  result  of  scrutinizing  in 
cold  blood  his  recent  elocution,  now  turned  externally  red 
again.  He  realized  that  he  had  supplied  the  formidable 
Chauncey  with  an  inexhaustible  store  of  ammunition.  He 
was  proud  of  every  sentiment  which  he  had  uttered;  he  had 
no  desire  to  recant  or  to  apologize  for  his  fervor;  but  he 
did  not  know  how  to  get  started  again.  The  words  for 
which  he  sought  did  not  cleave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth, 
for  they  did  not  come  at  all.  Or  came  so  scantily  that  they 
sounded  futile.  He  blushed  rather  than  spoke  inarticulate 
thanks  for  the  toast  and  was  conscious  of  looking,  as  he 
reflected,  like  a  disconcerted  owl.  He  was  glad  to  find 
himself  presently  alone  with  his  uncle  in  the  library. 

The  last  special  interview  between  uncle  and  nephew — 
behind  closed  doors  and  out  of  earshot  of  the  family- 
had  taken  place  at  the  end  of  Henry's  sophomore  year 
when  Mr,  Chippendale  had  felt  constrained  to  warn  his 
sister's  son  against  the  dangers  of  developing  into  what  he 


94  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

termed  an  "off  horse."  At  that  time  he  took  occasion  to 
point  out  that  his  nephew's  course  had  scarcely  been  nor 
mal,  indeed  had  been  almost  antagonistic  to  that  pur 
sued  by  most  college  men.  He  had  studied  hard,  which 
was  well  enough,  highly  creditable  indeed  in  the  abstract, 
though  Mr.  Chippendale  was  secretly  of  the  opinion  that 
the  study  of  human  nature,  as  he  termed  it,  closely  fol 
lowed  by  his  son  Chauncey,  was  more  valuable.  But  his 
chief  fault  was  that  he  never  seemed  content  to  let  well 
enough  alone,  and  on  one  plea  or  another,  was  continually 
objecting  to  the  established  order  of  things.  As  a  result — 
so  Mr.  Chippendale  had  been  informed — he  was  far  from 
popular  and  had  been  elected  even  into  the  large  college 
societies  only  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth.  Chauncey  had  re 
ported  that  the  boy  had  even  given  up  hunting  and  fishing 
on  the  ground  that  he  objected  to  taking  life. 

Mr.  Chippendale  continuing  had  remarked,  "You  know, 
my  dear  Henry,  there  is  no  one  more  in  sympathy  with 
true  idealism  than  we  Chippendales.  But  a  state  of  mind 
which  breeds  factious  opposition  is  liable  to  become  chronic 
— and  in  order  to  be  effective  in  this  world  one  must  over 
look  much,  for  one  cannot  tilt  at;  everything.  Your 
father " 

The  sudden  change  in  his  nephew's  expression  from  re 
spectful  and  grateful  mildness  to  critical  attention  at  this 
point  had  checked  the  speaker.  What  he  had  in  mind  was 
to  intimate  with  delicacy  that  the  late  Colonel  Henry  Sum- 
ner  had  sought  danger  literally  in  the  cannon's  mouth,  and 
might  have  been  living  at  the  moment  had  he  not  rushed  to 
destruction  when  discretion  would  have  been  the  better 
part  of  valor — better  especially  in  the  case  of  one  with  a 
wife  and  three  infants.  Mr.  Chippendale  had  been  almost 
an  eye-witness  of  the  occurrence,  and  was  fond  of  ponder- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  95 

ing  the  ethics  of  the  situation,  in  chapter  and  verse.  His 
brother-in-law  had  died  like  a  hero — but  there  were  other 
heroes  who  had  lived.  The  desire  to  express  his  meaning 
without  giving  offence — for  he  was  well  aware  that  the 
son  was  sensitive  where  his  father's  memory  was  con 
cerned — caused  him  to  pause  a  moment  before  he  said : 

"  Your  father  was  the  bravest  of  men,  but  if  he  were  alive, 
I  am  sure  he  would  counsel  you  to  be  less  censorious — er 
— in  regard  to  trifles,  and  to  reserve  your  ammunition  for 
the  big  abuses  of  life.  You  look  thin,  my  dear  boy.  You 
ought  to  eat  more,  and  you  will  not  misunderstand  me 
when  I  say  that  an  occasional  night  of — er — relaxation 
does  no  young  man  any  harm.  One  may  be  a  man  of 
ideals  without  ceasing  entirely  to  be  a  man  of  the  world. 
There  is  a  motto  which  it  will  do  you  no  harm  to  bear  in 
mind — 'In  medio  tutissimus  ibis.'" 

Henry  had  shaken  his  head  and  smiled.  "If  you  only 
knew  how  often  I  bite  my  tongue,  Uncle  Harrison.  But 
at  the  time  the  trifles  are  apt  to  seem  large  as  elephants. 
It's  my  nature  to  be  thin — my  father  was,  you  know — and 
as  to  the  rest  of  it,  I  never  could  be  popular  like  Chauncey. 
He's  the  most  popular  man  in  college." 

Mr.  Chippendale  accepted  this  tribute  to  his  son  with 
the  serenity  of  one  conscious  of  the  fact.  "I  expect  to  see 
Chauncey  make  his  mark  in  life.  I  understand  that  he  de 
claims  well."  He  was  thinking  of  the  public  life  from 
which  he  felt  himself  debarred.  In  his  mind's  eye,  he  be 
held  his  boy  as  a  member  of  Congress,  a  United  States 
Senator,  and  finally  a  Minister  at  the  Court  of  St.  James. 
"That  reminds  me,"  he  added,  "Have  you  made  up  your 
mind  yet,  Henry,  what  you  wish  to  do?" 

"  Not  wholly.  Professor  Paton  said  to  me  the  other  day 
something  about  devoting  my  life  to  higher  scholarship, 


96  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

and  I  gathered  that  if  I  do  well  until  I  graduate,  they  may 
invite  me  to  remain  as  an  instructor." 

"I  thought  very  likely  that  you  would  go  in  for  some 
thing  bookish."  Mr.  Chippendale's  comment  was  com 
placent,  for  the  factory  stocks  had  not  yet  passed  their 
dividends,  and  he  regarded  a  professorship  at  Harvard  as 
a  berth  well  adapted  to  the  not  entirely  practical  abilities 
of  his  nephew.  It  was  a  dignified  post  and  would  be  an 
excellent  supplement  in  family  honor  to  the  political 
laurels  in  reserve  for  his  own  son. 

This  conversation  between  them  had  taken  place  two 
years  earlier.  In  the  interval  the  situation  had  so  far 
changed  that  Mr.  Chippendale  felt  his  nephew  was  enti 
tled  to  know,  first  that  the  family  income  was  no  longer 
what  it  had  been,  and  secondly  that  nearly  everything  cost 
more  than  it  used  to.  How  these  data  would  affect  Henry's 
choice  of  a  means  of  livelihood  was  a  matter  of  conjecture 
—Mr.  Chippendale  himself  had  been  doubtful  what  to 
advise.  He  had  been  doubtful,  but  this  possibility  of  a 
hasty,  impecunious  marriage — absurd  as  it  was  on  the  face 
of  it — was  the  final  factor  in  leading  him  to  the  conclusion 
that,  all  things  considered,  his  nephew  had  better  go  to 
work,  and  that  it  was  incumbent  on  himself  to  tell  him  so. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SAVE  for  a  certain  eagerness  to  go  to  work  forthwith,  as 
though  retrenchment  implied  more  than  a  slight  tem 
porary  curtailment  of  his  mother's  income,  Henry  proved 
in  his  uncle's  eyes,  and  rather  to  Mr.  Chippendale's  sur 
prise,  a  most  amenable  and  passive  auditor.  Instead  of 
being  obliged  to  lead  tactfully  up  to  the  point  of  advising 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  97 

that  he  renounce  the  teaching  of  Greek,  Mr.  Chippendale 
found  himself  listening  to  the  statement  that  Henry  had 
decided  to  do  so.  This  was  welcome,  though  it  irritated 
him  that  his  nephew,  while  inviting  him  to  suggest  the  best 
kind  of  opening  down-town,  should  display  quite  such  a 
"  Horatius-at-the-bridge  "  manner. 

"Lo!  I  will  stand  at  thy  right  hand 
And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 

The  figure  of  speech  and  quotation  had  emanated  from 
Chauncey,  of  course — a  style  of  humor  which  was  very 
different  from  his  own.  But  Mr.  Chippendale,  in  observ 
ing  his  nephew's  tense  demeanor,  was  reminded  of  this 
facetious  description  of  it  previously  indulged  in  by  his 
jocose  son.  Moreover,  he  felt  it  wise  to  caution  Henry  on 
the  spot  that  progress  in  any  vocation  must  necessarily  be 
slow,  and  that  State  Street  was  not  to  be  carried  like  a 
fortress  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  "It  will  be  several 
years,  in  all  probability,"  he  added,  "before  you  are  earn 
ing  your  salt.  And  of  course  you  must  complete  your  col 
lege  course  like  a  gentleman." 

Henry  looked  a  little  crestfallen  at  this  prediction,  but 
he  remained  becomingly  meek.  It  was  only  when  his 
uncle — in  order,  doubtless,  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  there 
was  nothing  in  the  situation  which  demanded  unseemly 
haste — suggested  that  very  likely  his  mother  would  desire 
him  to  spend  a  year  abroad  before  putting  his  nose  to  the 
grindstone,  that  he  demurred.  But  Mr.  Chippendale  did 
not  think  it  necessary  to  dwell  on  this  point.  He  was  agree 
ably  surprised  to  find  that  they  were  in  accord  on  the  main 
proposition,  and  gratified  that  Henry  should  show  himself 
so  alive  to  his  responsibilities  as  a  son  and  so  rational  in  his 
point  of  view.  The  greater  portion  of  their  interview  was 


98  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

consumed  in  an  endeavor  to  satisfy  Henry's  newly  awak 
ened  curiosity  in  regard  to  the  family  investments,  con 
cerning  which  he  was  glad  to  furnish  the  fullest  particulars. 
When  his  nephew  had  departed,  Mr.  Chippendale  remem 
bered  that  the  subject  of  matrimony  had  not  been  broached 
except  in  a  general  admonition  by  him  to  the  effect  that  a 
young  man  with  his  way  to  make  could  not  think  of  such 
a  thing  for  a  long  time  to  come — a  remark  which  had 
failed  to  elicit  contradiction.  He  concluded  that — just  as 
every  cloud  has  its  silver  lining — the  reduction  of  the  divi 
dend  in  the  Warrior  Mills  had  been  the  means  of  saving 
one  of  the  family  from  an  unwise  'match. 

Mr.  Chippendale  was  correct  in  his  surmise — that  is,  so 
far  as  his  nephew's  purpose  was  concerned.  Henry  left  the 
house  with  two  thoughts  in  mind.  He  must  inform  his 
lady-love  that  he  had  been  unable  to  obtain  an  invitation 
for  her  to  his  cousin's  coming-out  ball,  and  he  would  ex 
plain  that  he  was  no  longer  in  a  position  to  ask  her  to  be 
come  his  wife.  Obligatory  as  the  first  seemed  to  him,  the 
second  was,  of  course,  the  soul-absorbing  necessity.  When 
he  had  requested  an  interview  the  night  before,  he  had 
supposed  himself  able  to  marry.  Now  it  was  obvious,  as 
his  uncle  had  pointed  out,  that  several  years  might  elapse 
before  his  income  was  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  do  so. 
In  the  meanwhile — assuming  that  she  reciprocated  his 
love — would  Priscilla  be  willing  to  wait  for  him?  This 
was  the  point  which  he  was  eager  to  ascertain.  He  was 
prepared  to  wait  for  her,  if  necessary,  to  the  end  of  time, 
a  state  of  mind  which  he  intended  to  make  clear  to  her  in 
the  course  of  the  afternoon. 

He  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room  on  Dartmouth 
Street,  and  almost  immediately  Priscilla  came  down.  Evi 
dently  they  were  to  be  left  to  themselves,  which  seemed  to 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  99 

Henry  a  straw  in  his  favor,  though  the  words  of  the  ap 
pointment  did  not  necessarily  presage  an  offer  of  marriage. 
Yet  he  had  emphasized  gently  the  word  "particular" — 
"something  particular  which  I  wish  to  say  to  you." 

Priscilla,  as  she  sat  and  looked  at  him,  was  wondering 
why  she  had  consented  to  the  interview.  To  have  an 
swered  that  she  would  not  be  at  home  would  have  been  so 
easy.  Was  she  not  self-convicted  again  of  a  sort  of  incon 
sistency  in  her  attitude  toward  this  Beacon  Street  admirer  ? 
"  Again,"  because  in  spite  of  having  systematically  spoken 
ill  of  him  to  her  family  and  abused  him  to  herself,  she  had 
suffered  him  to  continue  his  attentions  and  to  draw  her 
into  lengthy  arguments.  She  had  no  difficulty  in  treating 
Professor  Paton  composedly.  Why  should  she  not  be 
equally  calm  in  the  presence  of  his  disciple  in  Greek — un 
less  it  were,  to  be  sure,  that  he  provoked  her  more  ?  As  to 
sanctioning  the  present  interview,  there  was  this  to  be  said 
— he  was  plainly  bent  on  making  sooner  or  later  a  definite 
proposal  and  would  never  be  satisfied  with  anything  short 
of  a  very  unequivocal  "no."  Besides,  there  would  be  a 
certain  satisfaction  in  throwing  over  so  high  and  mighty 
a  suitor.  It  would  surprise  him  infinitely;  he  would  never 
be  able  to  understand  how  it  could  happen. 

Yet,  as  she  thus  reassured  herself,  Priscilla  was  con 
scious  of  excitement,  of  a  certain  curiosity,  let  it  be  called, 
which  she  promptly  ascribed  to  the  credit  of  a  first  pro 
posal.  The  preliminaries  of  dialogue  were  over.  Why 
did  he  not  begin  ?  It  was  obvious  enough  from  his  embar 
rassed  manner  that  the  particular  thing  which  he  had  to 
say  was  of  such  moment  that  he  had  become  tongue-tied. 
Yet  he  was  looking  at  her  with  an  intensity  which  brought 
back  the  night  when  he  had  been  Hafiz — that  delusive 
hour  of  romance. 


100  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"When  I  spoke  to  you  last  evening,  Miss  Avery,"  he 
began,  "I  believed  that  I  was  coming  here  this  afternoon 
to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife." 

So  succinct  were  his  highly  charged  words  that  he  pro 
duced  the  effect  of  having  endeavored  to  compress  into 
compact  form  a  statement  which  should  be  exhaustive. 
To  be  sure,  from  his  own  self-conscious  point  of  view  it  was 
only  preliminary;  he  had  no  suspicion  even  that  he  had 
put  the  cart  squarely  ahead  of  the  horse  in  the  train  of 
amatory  logic.  But  to  Priscilla  his  speech  seemed  amaz 
ingly  definite — in  a  sense,  mortifying,  too,  though  egre- 
giously  mirth-provoking.  So  he  was  not  going  to  offer 
himself,  after  all.  Did  his  pause  and  appealing  stare  mean 
that  he  was  waiting  for  an  answer  ?  She  felt  the  blush  of 
mortification  rising  to  her  temples,  but  it  had  a  close  com 
petitor  in  her  desire  to  laugh. 

"You  mean  that  you  have  changed  your  mind?" 

The  blunt  suggestion  was  appalling ;  a  lightning- 
flash  in  an  instant  illumined  the  dark  passages  in  poor 
Henry's  labyrinth,  so  that  his  dire  clumsiness  dawned  on 
him. 

"  Oh,  no — oh,  no ! "  he  protested  in  confusion.  "  You  do 
not  understand.  I — I  meant — "  Then,  as  he  shrank 
back  from  the  bog  of  explanation,  he  exclaimed  with  pite 
ous  earnestness,  "Let  me  go  on,  Miss  Avery." 

"Please  do"  urged  Priscilla,  whose  eyes  were  sparkling 
with  amusement.  She  was  mistress  of  herself  now,  and  con 
fident  that  this  pseudo  offer  of  marriage  was  to  prove  far 
more  edifying  than  the  genuine  article  could  possibly  have 
been.  Yet  she  threw  back  her  head  a  little  impatiently,  as 
a  lily  sways  on  its  graceful  stem. 

Henry's  lips  were  dry.  "What  I  should  have  said,"  he 
resumed  relentlessly,  "is  that  you  are  my  ideal  of  all  a 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  ;  2G1, 

woman  should  be  "  (a  repetition  of  what  he  had  already 
uttered  an  hour  before,  but  was  it  not  comprehensive?) 
"  and  that  I  love  you  devotedly.  Whatever  happens,  noth 
ing  can  change  this." 

The  genuineness  of  his  feeling  was  unmistakable;  there 
was  a  breathless  ardor  in  the  last  sentence  which,  in  spite 
of  the  humor  of  the  situation,  was  not  lost  on  Priscilla. 
If  she  did  not  thrill,  at  least  she  restrained  her  caustic 
impulse  to  interrupt. 

"I  was  going  to  tell  you  this  to-day — I  am  telling  it  to 
you  and  am  ready  to  continue  for  ever  and  ever.  But — 
but  when  I  went  home  last  night  after  leaving  you,  I  found 
that  my  uncle — my  uncle,  Harrison  Chippendale,  who  is 
the  trustee  under  my  father's  will — had  been  there  to  say 
that  what  I  had  believed  to  be  the  case  is  no  longer  so.  I 
have  been  brought  up  to  suppose — it  seems  I  took  too 
much  for  granted — that  so  far  as  money  in  moderation  was 
concerned,  I  was  independent — that  I  was  free  to  marry 
whenever  I  chose.  But  it  appears  that  recently  the  family 
investments  have  not  done  well — I  blame  myself  now  for 
not  understanding  better  about  my  affairs — and  there  is 
only  enough  income  for  my  mother  and  sisters.  So" — he 
lingered  a  moment  on  the  word  as  if  he  desired  to  make 
sure  this  time  of  putting  the  pitiful  situation  exactly  before 
her.  "So  it  has  become  imperative  that  I  abandon  my 
plan  of  becoming  an  instructor  at  Harvard  and  earn  my 
own  living  down-town." 

Sacrificed  to  his  sisters  again!  Was  there  ever  such  a 
man?  Priscilla's  amazed  attention  pounced  on  this  edi 
fying  allusion  as  a  cat  upon  a  mouse. 

"Why  did  you  feel  that  you  must  tell  me  this?"  she 
asked  demurely. 

How  disconcerting  to  a  lover  who  believed  that  he  had 


/4Q2.  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

been  manfully  explicit!  But  Henry  was  not  given  time  to 
explain. 

"  You  were  afraid  I  should  be  disappointed  if  you  did  not 
clear  the  matter  up.  That  was  very  considerate  of  you. 
When  I  think  of  how  near  I  came  to  impoverishing  your 
mother  and  sisters,  I  cannot  be  too  thankful  that  you  have 
been  so  frank." 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully.  The  satire,  if  genuine,  was 
so  excruciating  that,  shrinking  from  the  truth,  he  sought 
to  extract  some  comfort  from  her  final  remark. 

Priscilla,  perceiving  his  plight,  laughed  gleefully. 
"You  are  prudence  itself,  Mr.  Hafiz  Sumner!" 

"Oh!"  he  gasped  in  his  dismay.    "You  are  offended." 

"Only  disappointed.  You  have  clearly  demonstrated 
to  me  with  New  England  conscientiousness  that  no  other 
course  was  possible.  You  had  to  throw  me  over." 

Though  painfully  conscious  of  her  mockery,  Henry 
snatched  at  the  precious  possibility  which  her  words,  dis 
dainful  as  they  were,  disclosed. 

"  Do  you  mean — ?"  he  began,  with  ecstasy  in  his  eyes. 

"If  I  did,  it  is  too  late,"  she  interrupted,  in  her  delight 
that  he  had  yielded  to  the  lure  and  thus  assured  her  only 
possible  vengeance. 

"Priscilla,  forgive  me,"  he  cried.  "I  have  expressed 
myself  clumsily,  but — 

"  How  dare  you  call  me  by  my  Christian  name  ?"  Will 
ing  as  she  was  to  fool  him  to  the  top  of  his  bent,  this  was 
more  than  she  could  put  up  with.  What  a  strange  com 
pound  he  was  of  shyness  and  audacity! 

The  rebuke  was  disconcerting.  Henry  was  visibly 
abashed.  Yet  he  persisted  in  his  infatuation  that  on  ac 
count  of  wounded  pride  she  was  concealing  her  real  feelings. 
For  whether  this  were  so  or  not,  the  hope  that  she  would 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  103 

care  for  him  in  the  end  was  one  he  intended  to  cherish  in 
definitely.  He  gnawed  his  lip  in  his  distress,  for  her  deri 
sive  smile  seared  his  soul  like  an  iron.  At  the  same  time  it 
aroused  his  spirit  of  contradiction.  He  had  apologized  for 
his  lack  of  tact;  he  was  ready  to  be  condemned  on  the 
score  of  awkwardness,  but  he  took  issue  with  his  scornful 
tormentor  concerning  the  merits  of  the  case.  She  resented 
his  throwing  her  over,  as  she  called  it,  on  account  of  his 
mother  and  sisters.  What  other  course  was  open  but  to  tell 
her  the  exact  truth — that  he  was  unable  to  support  a  wife  ? 
Therefore,  though  his  agitation  disclosed  that  he  was  do 
ing  penance  for  calling  her  Priscilla  without  leave,  he  said 
as  soon  as  he  found  his  tongue : 

''Seeing  that  I  loved  you,  Miss  Avery,  and  was  deter 
mined  that  you  should  know  the  fact,  I  wish  you  would 
tell  me  what  else  I  could  have  done."  He  paused  for  a 
moment  to  let  the  words  sink  in,  then  added  a  little  plain 
tively,  "Would  you  have  married  me  just  as  I  am,  if  I 
had  asked  you?" 

His  entire  mental  attitude  from  the  first  word  to  this  be 
lated  perception  of  his  fault — now  soberly  tendered  her 
like  a  wish-bone  on  a  platter  for  her  to  seize  and  pull  apart 
with  him  in  argument — tallied  so  thoroughly  with  Pris- 
cilla's  preconceptions  regarding  him  that  she  could  have 
cried  with  joy.  Was  she  not  now  completely  justified  in 
her  judgment  that  he  was  exactly  the  sort  of  man  she 
would  never  marry?  In  response  to  his  query  her  first 
impulse  was  to  answer  " Certainly  not";  but  to  do  so 
would  spoil  the  fun.  It  was  incumbent  on  her  to  punish 
him  effectively  by  leaving  the  question  open,  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  rebuke  that  strain  of  obstinacy — that  pride 
of  opinion  which  had  cropped  up  in  him  as  usual.  As  she 
watched  him  sitting  there,  abashed  yet  earnest,  solicitous 


104  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

yet  expectant,  with  his  lips  closed  and  his  eyes  gleaming, 
she  rejoiced  in  the  opportunity  he  had  given  her  to  enlighten 
him  as  to  what  he  really  was — the  conventional,  critical, 
cold  type  of  Boston  man  which  she  abhorred. 

Accordingly,  she  bent  on  him  deliberately  her  fine,  soul 
ful  eyes.  Was  not  a  little  coquetry  permissible  toward 
such  a  lover  ?  As  salve  to  her  conscience,  if  any  were  nec 
essary,  there  was  this — that  but  for  his  being  the  antipodes 
of  everything  she  admired  in  man,  she  might  have  learned 
to  like  him. 

"That  is  something  which  you  will  never  know,"  she 
declared. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath.  The  ambiguity  was  intoxicat 
ing,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  here  was  the  opportunity 
when  a  man  of  a  different  temper — both  his  cousin 
Chauncey  and  the  Avery's  new  boarder  arose  before 
him  as  examples — would  have  swept  away  her  scruples 
by  taking  her  in  his  arms.  But  in  the  same  breath  he 
was  subconsciously  aware  that  he  was  restrained  from  do 
ing  so  by  the  dread  that  she  might  not  like  it.  Aware  both 
that  he  did  not  dare  and  that  his  limpness  was  a  heritage 
from  a  long  line  of  strait-laced,  self -scrutinizing,  unemo 
tional  ancestors— thus  he  stigmatized  his  family  tree  in 
the  bitterness  of  the  moment.  Their  influence  seemed  to 
him,  like  that  of  so  many  old  men  of  the  sea,  to  dampen  his 
spirit  until  it  mildewed,  so  that  he  remained  capable  only 
of  exclaiming  dramatically: 

"  Then  I  shall  infer  that— 

But  Priscilla  cut  him  short.  "Do  not  interrupt  me. 
You  have  requested  me  to  inform  you  what  else  you  could 
have  done,  and  I  was  about  to  do  so.  Besides,  whatever 
your  inference,  everything  now  is  settled  both  for  the  pres 
ent  and  the  future."  No  one  should  be  able  to  accuse  her 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  105 

of  being  infirm  of  purpose;   she  could  ply  the  dagger  re 
lentlessly  at  the  proper  moment. 

Henry  was  thankful  now  that  he  had  restrained  himself, 
and  he  winced  a  little  before  this  disdainful  ultimatum,  but 
he  answered  firmly:  "Yes,  I  wish  you  to  tell  me." 

It  was  Priscilla's  turn  to  draw  a  deep  breath  before  she 
spoke.  This  was  the  sweetest  moment  of  her  life.  Such 
an  opportunity  was  one  she  had  never  dreamed  of.  Fate 
had  delivered  him  into  her  hands  and  thereby  sanctified 
her  prejudices. 

"You  might  have  left  it  to  me.    Given  me  the  chance." 

"The  chance?" 

"The  chance  of  deciding.  But  you  took  it  into  youi 
own  hands.  You  decided  the  question  for  both  of  us  like 
a  true,  cautious  Bostonian.  You  had  counted  the  cost. 
We  could  not  afford  it;  we  might  be  poverty-stricken  all 
our  lives;  I  might  be  obliged  to  do  the  housework  and 
you  to  clean  out  the  furnace.  And  so" — she,  too,  in  her 
turn,  lingered  on  the  word  to  emphasize  her  scorn — 
"  and  so  before  you  introduced  me  to  the  wingless  starve 
ling  which  you  call  your  love,  you  solemnly  sacrificed  him 
on  the  altar  of  consummate  prudence." 

Henry  had  become  crimson;  but  he  protested: 

"On  the  contrary,  I  came  here  to  pour  out  my  soul  to 
you  and  to  implore  you  to  wait." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "Wait  after  you  had 
told  me  that  you  could  not  afford  to  marry  me?  Listen. 
Is  this  what  Hafiz  would  have  done  ?  What  any  one  would 
have  done  who  really  loved  a  woman  as  she  demands  to 
be  loved?  Let  me  tell  you" — she  threw  back  her  head 
imperiously,  throbbing  with  her  theme.  "The  man  for 
whom  I  would  wait  would  come  to  me  breathing  his  devo 
tion  as  a  flame,  inspired  to  fall  upon  his  bended  knees, 


106  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

eager,  if  any  one  but  I  demurred,  to  clamber  to  my  lattice 
window  at  dead  of  night  and  claim  me  as  his  bride  without 
a  penny.  Ready  in  order  to  win  me  to  risk  all,  forsake  all 
— mother  and  sisters — even  though  starvation,  and  ob 
scurity — yes,  and  social  ostracism  stared  him  in  the  face. 
That  is  love.  You  offered  me  instead  a  pitiful  apology." 

"It  was  out  of  consideration  for  you.  It  never  occurred 
to  me — "  he  stammered. 

It  was  plain  from  his  expression  that  he  was  mortified — 
that  her  words  had  lacerated  him;  but  no  less  so  that  he 
still  insisted  on  defending  himself. 

"That's  just  the  point — it  never  occurred  to  you,"  she 
cried  with  a  triumphant  inflection.  "It  never  occurred  to 
you  that  a  man  should  feel  like  this;  it  never  occurred  to 
you  that  a  woman  might  be  ready — "  She  left  the  rest  to 
his  imagination,  leaning  forward  from  her  chair  in  her  en 
joyment  at  plunging  to  the  hilt  the  dagger  of  her  disdain. 

"I  took  for  granted  that  you — 

"No  man  should  take  anything  for  granted  with  a 
woman  where  love  is  concerned." 

"Then  you  mean  that  if— 

"I  mean  that  because  you  are  you  it  was  impossible 
from  the  first."  She  spoke  with  meditated  precision. 
This  was  to  be  the  finishing  stroke. 

A  fresh  wave  of  color  rose  to  Henry's  gaunt  cheeks. 
Hope  for  the  moment  had  departed,  but  with  it  self-con 
sciousness.  He  sat  confronting  the  horizon  of  a  lonely 
manhood.  So  much  for  the  past  and  for  the  future.  As 
for  the  present,  tingling  as  he  was,  he  was  unable  to  forget 
that  a  principle  was  involved. 

"I  was  ready  to  fall  on  my  bended  knees.  I  am  still," 
he  declared  with  simple  dignity. 

"That  would  be  absurd,"   she  retorted,  and  she  did 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  107 

not  resist  the  temptation  to  add,  "  You  would  not  do  it 
well." 

Henry  could  not  deny  this.  He  was  only  too  conscious 
of  its  truth,  for  it  was  one  of  the  things  which,  in  previous 
watches  of  the  night  and  on  his  way  to  her  house,  he  had 
wondered  if  he  ought  to  do — had  asked  himself  anxiously 
if  men  did  nowadays. 

"I  agree,"  he  replied,  smiling  wanly,  for  his  sense  of 
humor  was  stirred. 

Priscilla  smiled  back.  She  was  beginning  to  be  a  little 
sorry  for  him.  If  he  were  sufficiently  crushed  and  really 
contrite,  she  could  afford  to  apply  some  ointment  to  his 
wounds. 

"And  you  agree  with  the  rest?    You  are  convinced?" 

His  smile  did  not  vanish,  but  it  altered  to  that  of  the 
martyr  ready  to  die  for  his  cause.  "I  am  convinced  that 
I  was  clumsy — lukewarm  in  expression,  unimaginative, 
what  you  please — but  I  still  think  that  it  would  not  have 
been  honest;  that  it  was  right  to  tell  you  my — er — real  cir 
cumstances  before  I  spoke." 

Priscilla  listened  spiritually  aghast.  How  obstinate  he 
was !  His  quiet  determination  was  positively  nettling  in  its 
quality.  It  came  over  her  that  her  irony  had  spent  itself 
in  vain,  and  that  in  spite  of  her  lashing — in  spite  of  the  en 
lightenment  he  had  received — he  was  still  the  same  man 
as  before;  an  irritating  conclusion  to  her  ambitious  spirit. 
Yet,  though  he  spoke  resolutely,  it  was  with  a  wistful 
courtliness  which  suggested  to  her  that  he  hoped  she  would 
not  regard  him  merely  as  pig-headed.  So  artless,  so  gen 
uine  was  his  concern  that  even  in  her  resentment  it  passed 
through  her  mind  that  in  other  circumstances  he  might 
almost  have  appeared  charming. 

But  this  only  instigated  her  the  more  to  compress  into 


108  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

a  dignified  phrase  one  final  retort  which  should  be  also  a 
sentence  of  dismissal,  for,  as  he  finished,  she  had  heard  the 
voices  in  the  hall  of  Lora  and  Mr.  Blaisdell  returning  from 
a  long  walk.  She  wished  to  have  done  with  this  exasper 
ating  lover  and  to  begin  life  afresh. 

"You  are  an  impossible  man,  Mr.  Sumner.  You  are 
hopeless." 

She  meant  that  her  words  should  have  just  that  metallic 
ring,  just  that  touch  of  airiness  which  they  expressed.  She 
rose  as  she  uttered  them. 

But  once  more  she  perceived  that,  like  Antaeus  when  he 
touched  mother  earth,  her  visitor  gained  fresh  force  from 
opposition.  Was  he,  too,  becoming  a  little  airy  ?  At  least 
he  was  smiling  again.  Priscilla  did  not  realize  that  this 
was  because  he  was  about  to  play  upon  her  phrase. 

"I  am  not  hopeless,  at  least,  of  making  you  marry  me 
some  day." 

Such  a  presumptuous  challenge  was  amusing,  at  any 
rate.  It  was  too  absurd  to  require  an  answer;  but  fidelity 
like  this  in  the  face  of  such  severe,  though  condign,  pun 
ishment  merited  some  appreciation. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  putting  out  her  hand  like  Majesty 
seeking  to  be  gracious,  and  she  held  his  firmly,  if  only  to 
show  that  the  blood  in  her  veins  ran  red. 

Then,  to  her  surprise,  and  far  more  to  his — what  will  not 
Boston  men  do  when  goaded  ? — he  bent  forward  and  im 
printed  a  respectful  but  ardent  kiss  on  her  wrist. 

The  joy  that  he  had  ventured  this,  the  surprise  that  it 
had  really  happened,  and  the  agitating  wonder  whether  it 
were  an  atrocious  liberty  which  would  never  be  forgiven 
combined  to  confuse  his  senses,  so  that  he  backed  out  of 
the  room  completely  in  the  dark  as  to  how  she  had  taken  it. 
At  least  she  had  not  reproached  him  audibly,  screamed  or 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  109 

fainted.  But  Miss  Avery  was  not  of  the  fainting  kind,  and, 
though  she  might  have  screamed,  would  she  not  presum 
ably  at  the  same  moment  have  boxed  his  ears  ?  So  he  re 
flected  when,  having  found  himself  on  the  sidewalk,  he 
turned  sharply  to  the  right  in  order  that  he  might  collect 
his  faculties  and  revise  his  scheme  of  life  by  means  of  a 
walk  toward  the  South  end  before  returning  home.  One 
of  the  first  things  which  he  remembered  as  he  proceeded 
on  his  way  was  that  he  had  neglected  to  inform  Priscilla  of 
his  inability  to  obtain  an  invitation  for  her  to  his  cousin's 
ball.  But  considering  all  the  circumstances  this  now  seemed 
to  him  unimportant.  He  was  dismissed  and  he  had  been 
proved  ridiculous;  but  was  he  not  right  ?  Besides,  he  had 
demonstrated  at  the  last  moment  that  she  had  misjudged 
the  depth  of  his  feelings.  Was  he  really  cold  and  captious  ? 
Incapable  of  the  transport  which  should  animate  a  lover  ? 
Her  words  had  sunk  deep,  yet  in  spite  of  his  abasement,  he 
reserved  to  himself  the  right  of  private  judgment  as  well 
as  that  of  dogged  hope  as  he  settled  into  his  long,  nervous 
stride. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

As  General  Langdon  had  informed  Blaisdell,  the  firm 
of  Delano  &  Kurd  was  short-handed.  His  partner's 
sudden  death  had  thrown  Delano  too  exclusively  on  his 
own  resources.  It  had  occurred  at  the  end  of  a  period  of 
stagnation  just  as  the  market  had  begun  to  rise  rapidly 
and  the  public  was  coming  in.  Hurd  had  been  the  office 
man;  who,  besides  overseeing  the  books,  interviewed  the 
customers  and  advised  them  what  to  buy.  Delano  was  not 


110  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ready  to  take  another  partner.  Bookkeepers  were  plenti 
ful  as  berries  on  a  bush;  what  he  needed  was  a  wide 
awake,  energetic,  sociable  assistant  in  the  outer  office  who 
would  be  on  hand  to  inspire  confidence  and  answer  ques 
tions  when  he  himself  was  in  the  "  board."  It  was  not  easy 
to  find  just  the  right  man.  He  had  taken  Blaisdell  on  ap 
proval,  not  because  he  expected  him  to  satisfy  the  require 
ments,  but  because  he  had  no  one  else  in  view  and  General 
Langdon  had  stated  that  he  fancied  the  young  man's  looks. 
He  needed  some  one  immediately,  for  he  was  doing  a  rush 
ing  business. 

It  was  one  opportunity  in  a  thousand.  Delano,  who  was 
not  quite  forty — a  nervous,  excitable  man  with  a  thin,  pale 
face  and  eyes  keen  as  a  ferret's,  but  a  wag  in  his  way,  and 
popular — had  served  his  apprenticeship  on  State  Street 
and  set  up  for  himself  on  the  strength  of  a  small  capital 
but  a  considerable  fund  of  experience.  Blaisdell  threw 
himself  into  the  breach  with  an  enthusiasm  which  never 
flagged.  What  he  did  not  know  was  appalling,  but  he 
glossed  over  his  ignorance  when  customers  were  in  the 
office  by  means  of  his  affability,  and  applied  himself  assid 
uously  to  mastering  the  lingo  of  the  street  and  familiariz 
ing  himself  with  the  speculative  properties  most  promi 
nently  in  the  public  eye.  His  employer  was  agreeably 
disappointed  from  the  first.  Within  a  very  short  time, 
Delano  discovered  that  he  had  unearthed  a  treasure;  at  the 
end  of  three  months  he  realized  that  his  assistant  was  an 
extremely  able  man;  by  the  close  of  the  first  year  he  sus 
pected  that  others  were  reaching  the  same  conclusion; 
whereupon,  apprehensive  of  losing  him,  he  offered  Blais 
dell  a  small  share  in  the  business  conditional  on  his  bind 
ing  himself  to  remain  for  three  years. 

The  broker  felt  no  doubts  as  to  the  wisdom  of  his  action. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  111 

Most  young  men  might  require  a  five  years'  training  down 
town  before  they  were  fit  for  responsibility,  but  here  was 
an  exception ;  and  the  reasons  were  apparent.  Not  merely 
did  this  novice  revel  in  hard  work,  but  he  had  such  a 
; pleasant  and  convincing  way  with  him  that  the  customers 
already  hung  on  his  words.  Also  he  showed  unmistakable 
signs  of  being  a  "mouser" — the  possessor  of  the  happy 
faculty  of  finding  out  things  in  advance  of  others,  an  emi 
nently  valuable  qualification  for  a  business  consecrated  to 
buying  at  the  bottom  and  selling  at  the  top.  Most  im 
portant  of  all,  Blaisdell  never  seemed  to  lose  his  head,  but 
was  endowed  with  what  he — Delano — glibly  referred  to 
as  reserve  force.  "I  watched  him  during  the  last  flurry," 
he  would  say,  "and  he  didn't  turn  a  hair,  though  it  looked 
for  fifteen  minutes  as  if  the  market  were  going  to  ballyhack. 
That's  not  my  temperament.  I  wouldn't  dare  to  bet  that 
in  a  real  panic  I  shouldn't  appear  like  a  galvanized  jump- 
ing-jack.  Mark  my  words,  the  fellow  has  lots  of  reserve 
force." 

How  swiftly  a  good  reputation  often  spreads  by  word  of 
mouth!  All  of  a  sudden  it  became  current  on  every  one's 
lips  in  banking  circles  that  Delano's  new  partner  was  a 
wonder — some  one  distinctly  out  of  the  common  in  point 
of  ability  and  discernment.  The  rumor  presently  reached 
the  ears  of  General  Horatio  Langdon,  who  experienced  a 
passing  regret  that  he  had  let  so  promising  a  youth  slip 
through  his  fingers.  It  was  repeated  from  one  to  another 
that  the  advice  to  buy  stocks  on  the  break — when  to  the 
timid  it  appeared  as  if  the  height  of  the- bull  movement 
had  been  reached — had  emanated  from  him,  and  also  that 
it  was  he  who  had  suggested  the  purchase  of  a  certain  low- 
priced  manufacturing  stock  just  before  it  rose  twenty 
points  in  as  many  days.  Who  was  he?  Where  did  he 


112  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

come  from  ?  Who  were  his  forebears  ?  The  current  answer 
to  these  interrogatories  was  that  he  came  of  good  Maine 
stock,  was  a  graduate  of  a  fresh-water  college  and  was  at 
present  boarding  at  the  house  of  a  Cambridge  professor 
on  Dartmouth  Street.  This  proved  at  least  that  he  was  no 
confidence  man  in  disguise;  therefore  he  was  permitted 
to  take  his  place  on  State  Street  as  a  promising  financial 
stripling,  one  who  had  won  his  spurs  so  quickly  as  almost 
to  excite  suspicion  concerning  his  staying  powers,  but 
whose  future  would  bear  watching.  Already,  however, 
several  of  the  younger  customers  of  the  office  had  become 
disposed  to  aid  him  socially.  Would  he  not  like  to  join 
the  Suburban  Club  where  he  could  play  golf  and  tennis 
and  enjoy  an  open-air  holiday  now  and  then?  Two  of 
them  insisted  on  proposing  him  for  membership.  Some 
one  else  took  him  to  a  political  caucus,  where,  at  the  right 
moment,  he  made  a  few  sensible  remarks.  Everybody 
present  was  curious  to  know  who  he  was,  and  later  in  the 
evening  he  was  named  as  an  alternate  delegate  to  the 
convention  for  the  choice  of  a  member  of  the  Governor's 
Council. 

Blaisdell  accepted  this  progress  mainly  as  a  matter  of 
course.  He  was  too  busy  to  analyze  how  much  it  was  due 
to  merit,  how  much  to  fortune,  and  such  speculation  would 
have  seemed  to  him  futile.  Striving  from  day  to  day  with 
all  his  might  to  make  the  most  of  his  opportunity,  he  was 
elated  but  not  surprised  by  the  offer  of  partnership.  He 
had  proved  efficient  and  had  raised  himself  by  one  bound 
from  the  lowest  round  of  the  ladder  to  a  point  from  which 
he  could  survey  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  But  was  not  this 
just  such  a  result  as  he  had  intended  ?  It  did  not  occur  to 
him  to  decline  Delano's  proposition,  but  he  was  agreeably 
conscious  that  it  had  been  broached  more  or  less  in  self- 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  113 

defence.  He  had  made  himself  indispensable  and  was  reap 
ing  the  legitimate  fruit  of  his  assiduity. 

At  the  same  time  he  was  making  progress  of  another 
kind,  which  may  be  denned  as  deciding  which  of  Mrs. 
Avery's  daughters  he  preferred.  Yet  he  had  no  real  doubts 
on  the  subject.  On  the  contrary,  the  presence  of  Priscilla 
served  constantly  as  an  argument  in  support  of  his  first 
impression — a  fine  creature,  but  not  exactly  his  sort.  She 
might  be  clever,  was  possibly  deeper  than  her  step-sister, 
but  she  was  not  cosey  enough  for  a  wife.  She  struck  him 
as  an  exotic  in  womanhood— some  splendid,  but  half -ripe 
fruit.  Whereas  Lora,  with  her  trig  plumpness  and  gay, 
practical  ways,  hung  like  a  golden  pippin  ripe  for  the 
touch  of  a  modern  Hercules. 

This  did  not  signify  that  he  was  planning  anything  des 
perate.  But  by  the  end  of  twelve  months  he  had  reached 
the  stage  not  merely  of  being  certain  that  he  intended  to 
marry  Lora,  but  of  asking  himself  how  soon  he  could  hope 
to  do  so.  Therefore  Delano's  offer  was  doubly  welcome; 
it  gratified  his  ambition  and  opened  the  door  to  wedlock. 
He  considered  himself  practically  engaged  to  her  already; 
he  had  said  enough  to  let  her  divine  his  ulterior  purpose 
without  committing  himself  in  precise  terms;  and  the 
manner  in  which  she  continued  to  accept  his  devotion  sat 
isfied  him  that  she  understood.  It  had  seemed  to  him  ab 
surd  to  be  tied  to  a  girl  by  the  string  of  a  long  engagement. 
Suppose  either  of  them  wearied  of  the  ordeal  or  fell  in  love 
with  some  one  else,  what  an  awkward  situation!  On  the 
other  hand,  now  that  he  was  able  to  support  a  wife,  he  was 
eager  to  be  married  at  once.  On  the  same  afternoon  when 
she  agreed  to  become  his  wife,  he  consulted  Lora  as  to  the 
feasibility  of  concealing  the  matter  for  a  week  and  then  of 
going  out  to  be  married  some  fine  morning  unknown  to 


114  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

any  one.    That  would  avoid  all  fuss  and  feathers — so  he 
dubbed  the  nuptial  preliminaries. 

Lora  uttered  a  little  outcry  of  dismay.  To  be  married 
without  a  wedding  dress  and  a  wedding  cake,  without  time 
to  prepare  a  trousseau  and  take  some  lessons  in  domestic 
economy — such  a  summary  programme  was  not  to  be 
thought  of  for  a  moment.  But  she  agreed  with  him  as  to 
the  desirability  of  a  short  engagement,  and  if  he  were  in 
a  hurry,  she  was  ready  to  be  married  in  the  spring.  It 
being  now  December,  Blaisdell  promptly  bargained  for 
March.  Lora  fixed  upon  May,  which,  she  assured  him, 
was  a  whole  month  sooner  than  he  had  any  right  to  expect. 
Were  not  most  brides  married  in  June  ?  Finally  they  com 
promised  on  April.  Blaisdell  would  have  had  her  appoint 
the  date,  especially  after  she  had  admitted  that  it  might 
be  any  day  except  Friday;  but  there  Lora  was  obdurate. 

"I  must  leave  myself  at  least  that  loophole  of  escape," 
she  lisped  gleefully.  "You  know  I  might  change  my 
mind."  Then,  as  if  she  feared  that  even  this  transparent 
feint  might  convey  the  impression  that  she  was  in  earnest, 
she  buried  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"I'm  the  happiest  girl  OIJL  earth  because  you  love  me," 
she  murmured. 

Blaisdell  hugged  her  closer  with  his  big  arm  and  kissed 
her  ardently.  They  were  seated  on  the  divan,  and  were 
all  alone  in  the  house,  for  Priscilla  had  gone  to  the  theatre 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Avery.  He  had  taken  advantage  of  the 
first  favorable  opportunity  since  the  formation  of  his  part 
nership. 

"It  was  love  at  first  sight  for  me — at  first  sight  and  for 
ever,"  he  answered.  "At  the  beginning  I  guess  I  tried  to 
resist,  but  your  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair  and  dear  little 
dimples  were  too  much  for  me,  sweetheart." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  115 

She  lifted  her  head  in  her  quick  way  and  looked  at  him 
archly.  "It  was  love  at  first  sight  for  both  of  us,  then. 
But  I  didn't  try  to  resist.  I  gave  right  in.  There!  Tell 
me  you  don't  think  the  worse  of  me  for  saying  so.  Was  it 
unmaidenly,  you  clever  man?" 

" Unmaidenly ? "  he  echoed.  "Is  it  ever  unmaidenly  for 
a  woman  to  love  with  all  her  soul  the  man  who  adores  her  ?  " 

The  plausible  enthusiasm  with  which  he  uttered  these 
intoxicating  words  made  them  seem  a  complete  refutation 
of  her  doubts.  How  masterful  he  was — so  full  of  energy, 
so  sensible  and  solid-looking,  with  his  full,  pleasant  face 
and  keen,  discerning  eyes.  He  was  better  than  handsome. 
It  would  be  blissful  to  entrust  herself  to  a  man  like  this. 
What  joy  to  try  to  make  him  happy  and  to  worship  him. 
She  would  spruce  him  up  a  little;  she  noticed  that  his 
necktie  was  slightly  frayed  and  that  his  trousers  needed 
pressing.  Otherwise  he  was  perfect.  She  blushed  under 
his  searching  gaze  and  sought  refuge  again  on  his  firm 
shoulder. 

"Where  are  we  going  to  live?"  she  inquired  as  she 
nestled. 

"  On  the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street,  of  course." 

Blaisdell  had  scarcely  given  a  thought  during  the  twelve 
months  to  social  considerations.  His  business  and  his 
courtship  had  so  monopolized  his  attention  that,  though 
his  eyes  had  noted  intelligently  many  other  externals  than 
the  gilded  grasshopper  on  Faneuil  Hall,  he  had  not  in 
dulged  in  philosophizing.  But  while  his  reply  was  in  a 
measure  parrot-like,  the1  recollection  of  Lora's  desire 
awoke  in  him  a  resolute,  if  slightly  amused  purpose  to 
gratify  it. 

"You  foolish  boy,"  she  said.  "You  don't  forget  any 
thing,  even  my  ridiculous  speeches.  You  will  see;  I  in- 


116  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

tend  to  be  one  of  those  thrifty  housewives  who  draw  the 
purse-strings  tightly — your  purse-strings."  She  laughed 
musically,  but  it  was  evident  that  she  wished  him  to  realize 
how  practical  she  could  be  even  in  the  hour  of  her  trans 
port. 

"Pooh!"  He  took  one  of  her  small,  plump  hands  and 
patted  it  fondly  between  his.  "You  little  frugal  fasci 
nator!  I  intend  you  to  have  everything  there  is  to  have, 
faster  than  you  wish  for  it.  To  begin  with — you  see  I've 
been  mapping  out  our  future  during  the  past  week — we'll 
take  a  little  house  in  Brookline  or  Milton  or  Dedham — any 
of  the  suburbs  you  prefer — just  for  a  starter — for  a  year  or 
two.  Then  if  things  go  right — and  I  intend  they  shall — 
we'll  move  in  town  and  you  shall  have  any  house — any 
house,  mind  you — which  you  select.  We  won't  spend  any 
more  money  than  I  earn,  of  course,  but  if  I  make  a  lot,  you 
won't  have  any  excuse  for  economizing  unless  you're 
wilful." 

"But  I  shall  do  so  all  the  same;  it  will  be  good  for  us, 
Hugh.  And  I  can  be  wilful,  and  very  firm,  if  necessary. 
'Not  a  cent  to-day,  sir,  except  your  car-fare,'  that's  what 
I  shall  say." 

"And  I  shall  stop  your  mouth  with  pearls  and  diamonds, 
young  lady.  I  dare  say  that  a  frugal  soul  would  not  be 
proof  against  a  necklace  of  real  pearls." 

She  gave  one  of  her  explosive  laughs.  "No,  it  wouldn't 
be." 

"And  as  for  the  diamonds — here's  just  a  sample  of  what 
you  will  have  some  day."  So  saying,  he  drew  from  the 
pocket  of  his  coat  a  jeweller's  box  and  held  it  out  open. 

"Forme?  Hugh — you  are  an  angel."  She  clapped  her 
hands  in  her  delight  as  she  gazed  at  the  sparkling  solitaire. 
It  was  a  fine  stone,  though  gaudily  set.  Blaisdell  lifted  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  117 

ring  from  its  case  and  slipped  it  onto  her  finger.  Lora 
dropped  her  eyes  and  when  she  lifted  them  her  cheeks  were 
flushed. 

"  You  brought  it  with  you ;  you  felt  perfectly  sure  then  ?  " 

There  was  a  touch  of  piteous  protest  in  her  tone. 

"Yes,  I  did.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  you. 
I  didn't  intend  to  let  you  escape.  How  could  I,  if  I  wished 
to  be  a  successful  man?"  He  looked  like  an  indomitable 
cherub  uttering  a  good-humored  but  unanswerable  plea. 

"I  don't  care  if  you  did — because  I  love  you  so." 

He  caught  her  to  his  breast.  Presently  she  held  up  her 
ring  finger  and  surveyed  the  lustrous  diamond.  "I  don't 
see  why  you  didn't  fall  in  love  with  Priscilla  instead  of  me. 
She  would  be  a  splendid  wife  for  a  successful  man." 

"Excuse  me  for  differing  with  you,  young  lady.  For 
marrying — for  marrying  me,  she  isn't  to  be  compared  to 
my  Lora." 

The  answer  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  as  if  he  had 
pondered  the  question  already  and  decided  it  to  his  com 
plete  satisfaction. 

She  nestled  closer  to  him.  "  Of  course  I'm  glad  that  you 
chose  me,  Hugh.  But  isn't  she  a  glorious  creature?" 

"  Glorious  ?    Yes,  she's  glorious." 

Somehow  the  lavish  phrase  seemed  to  disconcert  Blais- 
dell  a  little.  Did  he  resent  such  eulogy  of  one  whom  he 
had  seen  fit  to  pass  over  ?  " But — "  He  hesitated;  it  was 
evident  that  for  once  he  was  momentarily  at  a  loss  for  the 
words  to  express  his  conviction. 

"I  may  be  pretty,  but  Priscilla  is  handsome;  statuesque, 
mama  calls  her.  And  she  has  such  spirit  and  is  so 
tremendously  in  earnest." 

Unconsciously  Lora  had  supplied  her  lover  with  his  cue. 

"Too  tremendously  in  earnest.    Too  much  so  for  the 


118  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

peace  of  mind  of  a  hard-working  man  of  affairs  who, 
coming  home  tired  at  night,  desires  loving  arms  around  his 
neck  rather  than  problems.  Yes,  she's  handsome  and 
spirited,  but  she's  too  high-strung  for  me.  Her  spirit 
might  run  away  with  her.  She  would  insist  on  my  eating 
some  particular  kind  of  breakfast  food."  This  concluding 
sally  struck  Blaisdell  as  a  happy  bit  of  justification  and  he 
laughed  exuberantly. 

Lora  echoed  his  merriment,  but  she  suggested  at  once — 
"Or  make  you  economize  against  your  will." 

Then,  inspired  by  commiseration  which  was  pardonable 
in  one  so  exceptionally  happy,  she  murmured,  "  Poor  Pris- 
cilla!  If  things  had  only  gone  as  we  hoped,  she  would  be 
in  the  way  of  becoming  a  great  lady."  She  rounded  out 
her  meaning  by  adding,  "  She  was  intended  by  nature  to 
wear  pearls  and  diamonds  and  to  shine  in  the  best  society." 

"Not  any  more  than  you,"  Blaisdell  saw  fit  to  remark, 
like  one  who  resents  a  comparison.  "Why,  then,  didn't 
she  accept  that  diffident,  obstinate  scion  of  aristocracy  who 
was  haunting  the  house  when  I  arrived  here?" 

Lora  looked  mysterious.  It  had  been  understood  in  the 
Avery  household  that  Priscilla  had  snipped  off  the  bud  of 
hope  with  the  scissors  of  fate — the  figure  of  speech  was  Mr. 
Drake's — like  a  haughty  gardener.  At  least,  the  young 
man  from  the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street  had  vanished 
from  the  scene,  and  sundry  melancholy  confidences  on  the 
part  of  his  landlady  had  produced  on  BlaisdelPs  much- 
occupied  mind  the  impression  that  her  step-daughter  had 
thrown  away  an  opportunity  out  of  sheer  caprice.  But  now 
that  there  could  be  no  secrets  between  them,  Lora  felt  jus 
tified  in  saying : 

"I'm  not  perfectly  sure  he  ever  offered  himself  to  her. 
Priscilla  declares  that  he  didn't.  But  she  always  laughs 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  119 

when  she  says  it.  She  declares,  too,  that  he's  too  poor  to 
marry — which,  of  course,  must  be  sarcasm.  Priscilla  can 
be  sarcastic,  you  know.  I  rather  expected  she  would  tell 
me  all  about  it,  and  the  evening  after  it  happened — for 
something  did  happen — she  started  to  while  we  were  un 
dressing,  but  she  broke  down  laughing;  and  she  ended  by 
saying  that  his  point  of  view  merely  proved  that  she  had 
been  right  in  her  opinion  of  him  from  the  beginning  and 
that  she  wasn't  going  to  talk  about  the  matter  further.  So 
I  really  don't  know  much  more  than  you,  Hugh.  But  she 
persists  that  he  never  offered  himself  to  her." 

Blaisdell  contracted  his  small  eyes  thoughtfully.  It  was 
clear  to  him  that  the  shrewd  little  woman  at  his  side  was 
nursing  a  theory.  "If  I  had  nerves,  the  young  man  from 
the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street  would  have  got  on  them 
the  evening  I  saw  him;  but  I  believed  that  he  was  in 
earnest;  I  didn't  suppose  that  he  would  back  out.  Do 
you  mean  you  think  she  is  sorry  now?"  He  asked  the 
question  somewhat  searchingly. 

Lora  put  her  head  on  one  side  and  glanced  up  at  him 
with  admiration.  "  What  put  that  into  your  mind,  I  won 
der  ?  How  clever  you  are !  You  know  she  has  always  de 
clared  that  she  couldn't  abide  him."  She  paused  a  moment 
and  twisted  contemplatively  the  new  ring  on  her  finger. 
"I  feel  sure,  anyway,  that  she  would  have  liked  him  to 
offer  himself — what  girl  wouldn't  after  he  had  been  so  de 
voted? — and  I  really  think,  Hugh,  she  misses  his  atten 
tions,  though  it  would  make  her  angry  if  she  supposed  we 
thought  so.  There's  all  I  know — and  I  may  be  all  wrong 
on  that.  I  will  tell  you  something  else  about  her,"  she  con 
tinued,  rejoicing  in  the  privilege  of  confiding  all  her  se 
crets  to  the  man  she  loved.  "  She  is  determined  to  earn  her 
own  living,  and  she's  going  to  leave  the  Art  School  as  soon 


120  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

as  she  finds  the  right  sort  of  place.  Mama  has  assured  her 
a  dozen  times  that  she  counts  on  her  staying  at  home  until 
she  marries;  but  Priscilla  replies  that  she  doesn't  ever  ex 
pect  to  be  married,  which  is  too  silly  to  talk  about.  And 
yet " 

"Exactly  like  her,"  interrupted  Blaisdell.  "A  woman 
ought  always  to  take  for  granted  that  she  is  going  to  be 
married,  just  as  a  man  should  assume  that  he  is  going  to 
get  ahead.  What's  the  use  of  being  pessimistic  at  the  start  ? 
It  shows  a  screw  loose  somewhere." 

Lora  nodded.  "But  the  point  about  Priscilla  is  that 
she  intends  to  be  tremendously  particular;  I  don't  mean 
that  most  girls  necessarily  snap  up  the  first  man  who  asks 
them,  as  I  have;  but  Priscilla  is  different  from  most  girls. 
She  would  prefer  to  die  an  old  maid  rather  than  marry  the 
wrong  person." 

The  naivete  of  this  utterance  entertained  Blaisdell,  but 
he  chose  to  add  a  colloquial  moral.  "  Women  of  that  sort 
do  not  always  recognize  a  good  thing  when  they  see  it. 
Consequently  they  are  liable  to  be  stranded." 

"But  her  taste  in  men  is  good;  I'm  certain  she  admires 
you  immensely,"  said  Lora,  without  the  slightest  insinua 
tion. 

Blaisdell  had  suspected  as  much,  but  was  glad  to  have 
his  impression  confirmed.  "We  are  great  friends,  of 
course."  He  was  not  fond  of  being  critical;  he  preferred 
to  be  generous.  "You  were  saying  that  she  had  given  up 
her  art?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  resumed  Lora,  with  a  protesting  gasp.  "  She 
is  giving  it  up  because  she  fears  she  hasn't  great  talent,  be 
cause  she  thinks  she  has  discovered  that  she  can  never  be 
a  genius.  She  says  there  are  enough  third-rate  pictures 
and  statues  in  the  world  already.  Now,  even  if  she's  cor- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  121 

rect,  it  seems  to  me — take  my  case  for  instance;  I  could 
never  be  a  prima  donna;  we  were  told  that  some  time  ago. 
But  if  you  hadn't  come  along,  I  should  have  gone  right  on 
training  my  voice  and  sung  in  concerts  or  in  church  choirs 

and — and " 

"And  now  instead  it  will  be  a  constant  delight  to  your 
adoring  husband.  It  was  your  voice  which  finished  me  on 
the  spot. 

'It  will  not  do 
I'm  sorry  for  you* 

Take  my  case  for  instance."  He  mimicked  her  lisp  en 
dearingly.  "  You  sensible  little  being." 

Blaisdell  was  in  radiant  spirits.  All  he  heard  of  Pris- 
cilla  served  to  convince  him  of  the  wisdom  of  his  decision. 
"Why  doesn't  she  stay  at  home  then  and  be  a  comfort  to 
her  father  in  his  declining  years,  like  any  normal  daughter 
of  the  house?"  he  asked,  not  because  he  was  hostile  to 
woman's  progress,  but  because  he  was  so  firmly  convinced 
that  the  pinions  of  his  future  sister-in-law  needed  clipping. 

"  You  may  well  ask.  But  she  has  a  definite  reason.  She 
regards  her  father  as  a  failure — financially,  I  mean.  And 
I  suppose  he  is,  poor  man.  She  isn't  willing  to  be  depend 
ent,  as  she  calls  it,  on  mama  any  longer.  As  if  the  little 
she  eats — why,  the  house  won't  be  the  same  without  her, 
and  mama  tells  her  so  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  But  she's 
obdurate;  she  says  she  has  made  up  her  mind — her  mighty 
mind.  And  now  that  you  insist  on  carrying  me  off  too  so 
soon,  you  naughty  man,  I  don't  know  what  mama— 

Blaisdell  smothered  this  feeble  reproach  by  a  mighty 
hug.  He  had  no  doubts  as  to  Mrs.  Avery's  acquiescence 
— even  her  frank  satisfaction— after  a  short  outburst  of 
tears.  He  felt  sure  that  she  liked  him,  and  that  she  would 


122  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

reerard  the  match  from  an  optimistic  standpoint  as  soon  as 
she  had  recovered  from  the  disappointment  which  any 
mother  is  likely  to  feel  when  the  news  is  broken  to  her  that 
her  only  daughter  is  not  going  to  marry  a  rich  man. 

The  event  proved  that  Blaisdell  was  right.  The  happy 
pair  made  a  clean  breast  of  their  betrothal  to  Mrs.  Avery 
that  night  on  her  return  from  the  theatre.  They  took  the 
opportunity  to  follow  her  when  she  had  gone  into  the 
dining-room  for  a  moment,  and  Lora  bubblingly  broke  the 
news.  Notwithstanding  Mrs.  Avery  had  permitted  the 
affair  to  go  on  under  her  very  nose  without  an  effort  to  pre 
vent  the  natural  consequences,  she  was  manifestly  aston 
ished. 

" Engaged?  Engaged  to  be  married?  You  two  chil 
dren?"  She  put  her  hand  to  her  breast  to  control  her 
agitation. 

"Yes,  and  we  have  come  for  your  blessing,"  exclaimed 
Blaisdell,  confronting  her  smilingly  with  his  protecting 
arm  round  Lora's  waist. 

Mrs.  Avery's  eyes  were  like  saucers  from  excitement; 
she,  too,  appeared  all  smiles  for  a  moment,  but  suddenly 
she  looked  as  if  she  were  going  to  sneeze,  which  meant,  as 
Lora  well  knew,  that  she  was  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

" Oh,"  she  cried,  "it's  too  bewildering.  I  think  I'm  go 
ing  to  faint." 

Blaisdell  handily  placed  her  in  a  chair  and  for  a  few  mo 
ments  she  mopped  her  face  with  her  handkerchief.  Then 
presently  her  smile  broke  forth  again  like  the  sun  after  a 
shower;  yet  she  whimpered  lachrymosely,  "  My  little  Lora! 
It  never  occurred  to  me  that  such  a  thing  could  possibly 
happen  for  the  next  five  years." 

"I  couldn't  resist  the  cleverest  man  in  the  world,  mama, 
could  I  ?  And  you  know  that  Hugh  is  a  partner  now — and 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  123 

we  are  going  to  take  a  small  house  in  the  suburbs  and  be 
very  economical." 

"I  know — I  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Avery — (Blaisdell 
had  told  the  family  a  few  days  before  of  his  advancement) 
— "I'm  not  saying  a  word  against  Mr.  Blaisdell  person 
ally.  On  the  contrary,  I've  felt  sure  from  the  first  day  I 
set  eyes  on  him  that  he  was  smart,  and  I  wouldn't  be  a  bit 
surprised — no,  not  a  bit,  as  I  was  saying  to  Mr.  Drake  the 
other  day — if  he  made  a  tremendous  success.  But — but  I 
can't  get  used  to  the  idea  that  any  one  should  have  my 
little  Lora  so  soon.  Why,  Mr.  Blaisdell — Hugh — she's  a 
mere  child."  Mrs.  Avery,  though  she  had  clearly  capitu 
lated,  began  to  weep  softly  again. 

"I'm  nineteen,  mama." 

"And  we  shan't  be  married  before  April,"  said  Blaisdell 
with  the  air  of  one  who  is  magnanimously  yielding  some 
thing. 

*»' Perhaps — if  he  is  very  nice  to  you,  mama,  in  the 
meantime." 

Thereupon  Blaisdell,  to  show  how  nice  he  could  be,  put 
the  finishing  touch  to  the  situation  by  stepping  forward 
and  embracing  his  future  mother-in-law. 

"It's  all  right.  I'll  take  the  best  of  care  of  your  little 
girl — mama." 

Such  heartiness  was  the  most  bracing  of  tonics  to  Mrs. 
Avery's  reviving  spirits. 

"I  dare  say.  I  guess  so — Hugh.  Well,  I  give  her  to 
you." 

As  soon  as  these  decisive  words  were  out  of  her  mouth, 
Mrs.  Avery's  accustomed  buoyancy  began  to  reassert 
itself.  She  was  not  really  sorry  to  have  her  daughter  en 
gaged.  She,  also,  had  heard  that  there  were  two  hundred 
thousand  more  women  than  men  in  Massachusetts,  and 


124  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

while  she  would  naturally  have  preferred  what  the  world 
terms  a  brilliant  match,  she  had  ignored  the  growing 
intimacy  between  the  two  young  people.  Blaisdell  was 
what  she  called  her  sort.  There  was  no  nonsense  about 
him;  he  was  uncommonly  forcible  and  full  of  push  and 
good  nature.  In  the  lottery  of  husbands  whose  future  was 
not  yet  assured,  she  believed  that  he  would  prove  to  be  a 
prize.  Under  the  influence  of  these  comforting  reflections 
her  spirits  were  rising  every  minute. 

"That  is  what  comes  of  taking  boarders.  And  in  a  little 
more  than  a  year,  too.  Married  in  April  ?  This  house  will 
be  a  perfect  desert — for  Priscilla,  foolish  girl,  has  got  a  kink 
into  her  head  that  I  don't  want  her."  Thereupon  Mrs. 
Avery  was  seized  by  a  burning  impulse  to  impart  her  news 
to  the  rest  of  the  household. 

"Gideon — Gideon!  Priscilla— Priscilla !  Come  here  at 
once.  What  do  you  suppose  has  happened?"  Her  exu 
berance  negatived  any  possibility  of  a  calamity;  but  she 
did  not  wait  for  her  husband  and  step-daughter  to  hasten 
to  the  scene.  Throwing  open  the  door  into  the  parlor,  she 
cried : 

"Lora  and  Mr.  Blaisdell  are  engaged  to  be  married. 
They've  just  announced  it  to  me.  Isn't  it  thrilling?" 

In  the  congratulations  which  followed,  gentle  Mr.  Avery 
was  free  to  confess  that  he  was  completely  surprised.  But 
Priscilla  could  not  allege  such  ignorance.  On  the  con 
trary,  she  had  realized  for  several  months  that  they  would 
marry  some  day.  What  delighted  her  now  was  their 
promptness  in  becoming  engaged — in  not  waiting  for  their 
love  to  cool  because  they  were  too  timid  to  face  a  possible 
wolf  at  the  door.  This  thought  was  uppermost  as  she 
threw  her  arms  around  Lora's  neck,  and  then  turned  to 
shake  hands  eagerly  with  the  jubilant  Blaisdell. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  125 

"It's  splendid — ideal — a  genuine  love  match!  I  con 
gratulate  you  both — equally.  I  can't  deny  that  I  detected 
signs  of  what  was  coming — and  it's  just  glorious  that  it  has 
come  now.  Thank  heavens,  it's  exactly  what  it  ought  to 
be — a  genuine  love  match." 

Her  enthusiasm  overshadowed  that  of  Mrs.  Avery. 
She  was  determined  to  let  herself  go.  Was  it  not  exactly 
the  occasion  to  show  her  feelings  unreservedly?  Too 
many  people  at  such  a  time  failed  to  come  up  to  the  mark. 
There  was  her  father,  for  instance,  evidently  pleased  and 
wishing  to  say  so,  but  practically  tongue-tied  from  dread 
of  seeming  to  presume. 

"You  must  be  my  bridesmaid,  Priscilla,  dear." 

"And  you  must  consider  our  house  yours — free  to  come 
to  as  often  as  you  like  and  stay  as  long  as  you  like,  and  the 
longer  you  stay  the  happier  we  shall  be,  Miss  Priscilla." 

Lora  clapped  her  hands  ecstatically,  with  an  admiring 
look  at  her  lover. 

"  That's  just  what  I  wanted  to  say  and  just  what  I  mean. 
But  it  must  be  Priscilla  and  Hugh  henceforth— no  Miss 
and  no  Mr.  You're  relations— that  is,  going  to  be  in 
May." 

"The  middle  of  April,  not  a  day  later,  young  lady." 

"Mercy!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Avery.  "It's  almost  as 
hasty  as  an  elopement.  I  don't  believe  we  can  get  her 
ready."  Her  gaiety,  though  tremulous  again  for  an  in 
stant,  belied  her  words. 

"It  came  near  being  an  elopement.  I  was  ready," 
asserted  Blaisdell.  "It  was  only  the  wedding  dress — the 
loss  of  the  opportunity  to " 

"  I  will  break  it  off  if  you  don't  stop  at  once,"  lisped  Lora. 

Blaisdell  with  a  beaming  smile  thrust  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  tactfully  obeyed  orders. 


126  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"I  think  elopements  are  rather  fine,"  said  Priscilla  by 
way  of  consolation. 

"Which  proves  for  the  hundredth  time  that  you  are  a 
young  lady  of  great  discrimination,  Priscilla.  If  it  ever 
happens  that  I  am  free — 

Again  it  seemed  superfluous  for  him  to  supply  the  ellipsis. 
Everybody  laughed,  though  Lora  made  a  pretence  at 
pouting.  The  prompt  use  of  her  Christian  name  only 
served  to  heighten  Priscilla's  conviction  that  the  speaker 
was  a  very  human  person,  and  she  hastened  to  meet  him 
half-way. 

"It  will  be  privilege  enough  to  be  your  step- sister-in- 
law,  Hugh.  That's  the  relationship,  isn't  it?" 

Lora  indulged  in  one  of  her  musical  laughs.  "Now 
you've  both  broken  the  ice." 

"There  is  always  the  chance  of  divorce,"  suggested 
Morgan  Drake,  following  the  other  thread  of  the  dialogue. 
Mrs.  Avery  had  summoned  him  from  his  room  in  the  top 
story,  and  he  had  come  down  in  his  dressing-gown  under 
the  impression,  so  he  declared,  that  the  house  was  on  fire. 

The  remark,  though  jocose,  was  liable  to  be  misinter 
preted,  unless  treated  in  the  proper  spirit.  Blaisdell  rose 
to  the  occasion  by  showing  himself  completely  alive  to  his 
responsibilities  as  a  lover. 

"  Even  at  the  risk  of  disappointing  my  future  step-sister- 
in-law,  I  solemnly  declare  that  divorce  is  not  one  of  the 
possible  contingencies  in  this  case." 

"If,  then,  I  remain  unmarried  to  my  death,  you  will  all 
understand  who  is  responsible." 

Though  she  knew  that  she  was  simply  throwing  back 
the  ball  of  raillery,  Priscilla  was  conscious  of  flushing  as 
she  spoke;  consequently  she  felt  annoyed  with  herself. 
It  was  all  a  jest;  even  Lora  was  mirthful  at  the  harmless 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  127 

badinage.  What  excuse  was  there  on  her  own  part  for 
embarrassment  ? 

Blaisdell,  noticing  first  the  sparkle  of  her  dark  eyes  as 
she  flashed  the  words  at  him,  thought  nothing  of  the  blush 
except  that  it  was  becoming.  Therefore  he  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand  why  she  should  suddenly  frown  as  though 
a  pin  had  pricked  her.  He  ascribed  it  to  the  idiosyncrasies 
of  her  skipping  spirit.  Moreover,  he  reflected  that  he  had 
never  seen  her  look  handsomer.  Yes,  her  beauty  was  of 
the  statuesque  order.  If  any  man  would  undertake  the 
task  of  training  her,  she  had  the  makings  of  a  wife  of  whom 
one  might  be  proud.  As  an  engaged  man  serenely  content, 
he  was  ready  to  admit  that  he  might  not  have  done  his 
step-sister-in-law  entire  justice. 

By  way  of  condoning  his  cynicism,  Morgan  Drake  sat 
down  at  the  piano  and  struck  up  Mendelssohn's  wedding 
march  with  pedal  accompaniment,  much  to  Lora's  confu 
sion.  But  when  he  had  finished,  she  immediately  took  his 
place  and  with  meaning  glances  at  Blaisdell  proceeded  to 
play  the  bars  from  "The  Mikado,"  which  had  sealed  his 
fate.  Though  she  sang  the  words  at  him  with  exaggerated 
jauntiness,  she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  that  her  heart 
was  overflowing  with  joy. 

While  the  singing  was  going  on,  Mrs.  Avery,  to  whom  it 
had  occurred  that  after  such  a  surprise  every  one's  nervous 
system  needed  to  be  toned  up,  was  making  the  requisite 
preparations  for  a  Welsh  rabbit.  When  the  ingredients 
were  ready  she  summoned  them  all  to  the  table,  where 
presently  the  health  of  the  engaged  couple  was  drunk  in 
foaming  lager.  The  successful  suitor  acknowledged  the 
courtesy  by  a  few  easy  remarks  in  the  course  of  which  he 
made  an  apt  allusion  to  every  one  present.  His  speech 
caused  Mrs.  Avery  to  whisper  audibly  to  Morgan  Drake, 


128  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

who  was  sitting  beside  her,  that  just  that  sort  of  man  was 
Jiable  to  be  chosen  President  of  the  United  States.  Lora, 
who  overheard,  threw  a  kiss  at  her  mother  from  the  other 
end  of  the  table. 

"I  didn't  suppose  any  one  else  had  thought  of  that, 
mama,  except  me." 

Mrs.  Avery  had  completely  recovered  her  equilibrium. 
Indeed,  her  flow  of  spirits  led  her  at  the  first  favorable 
pause  to  disclose  a  conjugal  secret. 

"This  seems  to  be  a  momentous  day  in  our  establish 
ment.  There's  another  member  of  it  who  is  entitled  to 
our  congratulations." 

So  saying,  she  raised  her  decorated  stone  beer-mug. 
"Yes,  I  will,  Gideon;  you're  much  too  modest,"  she  con 
tinued  by  way  of  silencing  her  husband,  who,  having  per 
ceived  too  late  what  she  was  up  to,  showed  signs  of  pro 
testing.  " Here's  to  the  new  invention!  Mr.  Avery  be 
lieves  he  has  discovered  the  missing  link." 

There  was  a  general  shout  of  satisfaction,  after  which 
every  one,  having  drunk  the  toast,  turned  toward  the  in 
ventor  for  confirmation  of  the  statement. 

"I'm  so  glad,"  exclaimed  Lora  rapturously.  But  Mr. 
Drake,  whose  face  had  become  alert  with  sympathetic  in 
terest,  raised  his  hand  to  enjoin  silence,  for  Mr.  Avery  was 
preparing  to  rise. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said  with  old-fashioned  courtesy,  look 
ing  round  the  table.  "Mother  has  been  a  little  prema 
ture,  but  I  thank  you.  I  will  say  this,  however"— he 
nodded  his  head  with  wistful  satisfaction  as  he  weighed 
his  words—"  that  if  I  am  able  to  repeat  successfully  the  ex 
periments  of  the  last  week,  I  shall  arrive  at  valuable  prac 
tical  results.  In  any  event,  I  am  sure  that  I  am  on  the 
right  track— sure  of  this."  Thereupon  he  sat  down. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  129 

This  deprecating  announcement  fell  so  far  short  of  her 
own  dramatic  assertion  that  Mrs.  Avery  was  moved  to 
expostulate. 

"  But  you  know,  Gideon,  you  told  me  last  evening— 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Olive,"  interposed  her  husband  quickly. 
"  But  it  is  not  necessary  on  this  occasion  to  say  more."  His 
voice,  though  gentle,  indicated  plainly  that  he  was  issuing 
a  command.  He  rarely  did  so,  as  she  well  knew.  Ordi 
narily  he  gave  her  her  head — or  more  exactly,  the  unbridled 
use  of  her  tongue;  but  there  were  occasional  moments  like 
this  when  his  word  became  law. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  dear,  I  can  keep  a  secret  as  well  as  any 
body,"  she  responded  with  good-humored  emphasis. 

"There  is  no  secret— there  is  the  difficulty.  There  is 
nothing  definite.  I  was  merely  confiding  to  you  my  hopes." 

As  he  spoke,  however,  his  fine  face  lighted  up  as  if,  not 
withstanding,  he  entertained  an  entrancing  vision.  To 
Morgan  Drake,  who  was  watching  him,  his  expression  was 
that  of  one  who  believes  that  he  has  wrested  at  last  a  truth 
from  nature.  But  to  Priscilla  it  signified  only  that  he  was 
nursing  once  more — was  it  not  for  the  hundredth  time  ?— 
a  delusive  hope.  She  had  known  him  to  talk  like  this — to 
look  almost  like  this  often  before.  She  pitied  him,  she  was 
almost  annoyed  with  him  for  his  unwillingness  to  recognize 
and  submit  to  the  inevitable.  As  she  thus  reflected,  her 
eyes  chanced  to  meet  those  of  Blaisdell  across  the  table 
and  she  read  his  thoughts,  perceived  that  he  felt  the  same 
— that  he  was  good-naturedly  but  utterly  sceptical  as  to 
the  practical  results  of  her  father's  experiments.  The 
strong  desire  seized  her  to  change  the  subject  so  as  to  hide 
his  nakedness  from  further  parade,  for  which  filial  pur 
pose  she  had  the  means  at  her  command.  Indeed,  she  had 
been  waiting  for  the  proper  moment  at  which  to  spring 


130  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

one  more  surprise  upon  the  household— a  small  one  and 
yet  a  confession  which  sooner  or  later  must  be  made. 

She  knocked  on  the  table.  "Ladies,  gentlemen,  and— 
lovers" — Priscillawas  surprised  at  her  own  sprightliness, 
which  struck  her  as  germane  neither  to  her  preparatory 
thoughts  nor  to  the  coming  announcement — "  On  this  even 
ing  of  almost  universal  confidences,  listen  to  mine.  The 
fact  that  I  am  shortly  to  leave  this  house  in  order  to — er — 
follow  my  own  peculiar  bent  is  known,  I  believe,  to  all  of 


you." 


Her  pause  was  just  sufficient  to  allow  Mrs.  Avery  to  in 
terject  a  protesting  groan  and  for  Morgan  Drake  and 
Blaisdell  simultaneously  to  bang  their  mugs  on  the  table 
and  cry: 

"  Hear— hear." 

As  she  resumed,  Priscilla  suddenly  realized  that  she  was 
addressing  her  future  step-brother-in-law,  but  she  did  not 
alter  the  direction  of  her  gaze.  She  hoped  and  believed 
that  he,  at  least,  would  sympathize  with  her  practical  de 
cision.  Was  it  not  in  the  line  of  his  own  energetic  inde 
pendence  and  self-reliance?  But  the  interruption  had 
checked  the  current  of  her  speechifying,  and  she  suddenly 
decided  that  such  a  small  matter  did  not  justify  further 
circumlocution. 

"It's  only  this — I'm  engaged " 

As  the  words  slipped  out  of  her  mouth,  Priscilla  could 
not  resist  the  momentary  roguish  impulse  to  hesitate  long 
enough  to  permit  any  one  who  chose  to  fall  into  the  im 
promptu  trap.  Her  step-mother  proved  the  sole  but  easy 
victim. 

"You  too?"  she  shrieked.    "Not  to " 

"Miss  Georgiana  Chippendale,  an  elderly  lady  who 
lives  on  Beacon  Street  not  far  from  the  State  House. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  m       131 

I'm  to  be  her  companion.  I  answered  her  advertisement 
this  afternoon  and — and  so  far  we  suit  one  another. 
That's  the  whole  story." 

In  the  hubbub  of  remarks  and  inquiries  directed  at  her, 
Priscilla  distinguished  first  Blaisdell's  glib  words  of  en 
couragement — "I  wish  you  success  and  I  admire  your 
grit."  He  understood,  at  least,  and  appeared  to  sympa 
thize  with  her.  Secondly,  her  step-mother's  amazed  after 
thought  following  a  previous  ejaculation  of  dismay. 

"Advertisement?  Chippendale?  Why,  then  it  must 
be  some  relative  of  Mr.  Sumner's.  Mr.  Henry  Chippendale 
Sumner,  of  course.  That's  on  his  card." 

Lora  exploded  convulsively.  She  knew  the  blue  book 
well  enough  to  assert : 

"  She's  his  aunt." 

Priscilla  felt  herself  at  bay,  but  she  was  in  a  measure 
prepared  for  the  emergency;  the  family  must  enjoy  its 
little  joke.  "Yes,  she's  his  aunt,"  she  answered  doggedly. 
"I  don't  see  what  difference  it  makes  if  she  is;  but  if  it 
will  make  you  feel  any  better,  I  hereby  announce  that  I 
didn't  know  it  until  after  I  had  answered  the  advertise 
ment.  Only  the  number  of  the  house  was  given.  I  don't 
see  really,  though,  what  difference  it  would  make  if  I  had 
known."  She  surveyed  the  mocking  faces  defiantly.  For 
a  moment  no  one  seemed  disposed  to  break  a  lance  with 
the  haughty  maiden  on  the  point  involved,  and  then  the 
resonant  voice  of  Mrs.  A  very  was  heard  to  exclaim: 

"  You  didn't  know  ?  Then  I  should  call  it  fate,  my  dear." 

Manifestly  absurd  as  this  sally  was  in  her  opinion, 
Priscilla  felt  herself  the  butt  of  plausible  merriment.  It 
was  Blaisdell  who  came  to  her  rescue  with  a  phrase  the 
epigrammatic  quality  of  which  reminded  one  of  Morgin 
Drake. 


132  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Fate  or  fiddlesticks!"  he  said  with  sententious  em 
phasis. 

Priscilla's  eyes  sparkled  with  gratitude.  The  alliterative 
phrase  furnished  just  the  proper  antidote  to  her  step 
mother's  ridiculous  insinuation.  Leaning  forward  on  her 
elbows  with  clasped  hands,  she  looked  into  his  face. 

"That's  it  exactly:  fate  or  fiddlesticks!  And  in  saying 
so  you've  proved,  Mr.  Blaisdell — Hugh,  I  mean — that 
you're  better  even  than  a  step-brother-in-law;  you're  my 
avenging  angel." 

"Which  proves  conclusively,"  said  Mr.  Avery  after  a 
pause,  in  his  demure  way,  "that  it  must  be  fiddlesticks." 


CHAPTER  IX 

SAID  Harrison  Chippendale  to  his  son  Chauncey,  one 
morning  after  breakfast  about  five  years  later:  "Who  is 
this  Hugh  McD.  Blaisdell  mentioned  in  the  circular  rela 
tive  to  the  reorganization  of  the  Warrior  Mills?" 

There  had  been  a  period  when  Mr.  Chippendale  felt 
that  he  knew  everybody  in  Boston  worth  knowing.  That 
this  was  no  longer  so,  was  among  the  most  disconcerting  of 
all  the  rapid  changes  to  which  he  had  been  a  witness.  The 
mere  physical  expansion  of  his  native  city,  including  the 
twelve-story  office  buildings  and  the  thundering  "electrics" 
which  were  replacing  the  time-honored  congested  horse- 
car  service,  was  astonishing,  yet  not  to  be  marvelled  at  by 
one  who  did  not  expect  the  world  to  stand  still.  But  not 
to  know  who  people  were — to  see  strangers  forcing  their 
way  into  prominence  without  being  more  explicitly  vouched 
for — was  disturbing  to  one  who  was  accustomed  to  hear  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  133 

men  at  his  dinner  club  either  discuss  the  heroes  and  bat 
tles  of  the  Civil  War  or  reverently  recall  anecdotes  of  those 
prodigies  Daniel  Webster  and  Rufus  Choate.  A  casual 
mention  of  BlaisdelPs  name  at  one  of  these  functions  had 
first  opened  his  eyes  to  the  existence  of  such  a  person;  and 
here  it  was  cropping  up  again. 

"  Hugh  McD.  Blaisdell  ?  "  Chauncey's  interrogation  was 
an  echo  of  his  surprise.  "  If  it  were  any  one  but  you,  father, 
I  should  reply  that  ignorance  as  to  who  he  is  argues  your 
self  unknown.  Down-town,  that  is.  He's  one  of  the  rising 
luminaries  on  the  State  Street  horizon;  some  people  say 
the  rising  luminary.  He  moves  quickly  when  he  does 
move,  I'll  say  that  of  him.  It  was  he  who  bought  up  the 
stock  of  the  Puritan  Gas  Company  when  it  was  kicking 
round  under  par  and  sold  it  to  Cogswell  and  his  gang  at 
175.  It  was  he  who  conceived  and  syndicated  the  Bay 
State  Hotel,  so  there  is  now  some  prospect  that  all  the  things 
you  eat  at  a  public  restaurant  in  Boston  won't  taste  alike. 
Lately  he  has  turned  his  attention  to  reorganizations; 
he  has  galvanized  and  put  new  blood  into  several  financial 
corpses.  And  now  he  is  trying  his  hand  at  resuscitating 
the  old  Warrior  Mills." 

"By  new  blood  do  you  mean  water?  Horatio  Langdon 
said  I  was  lucky  when  he  sold  ours  at  40." 

"  I  know,  father.  Everybody  thought  so  at  the  moment. 
The  mills  are  old-fashioned  and  require  new  machinery 
throughout  and  up-to-date  buildings.  But  of  course  the 
good  will  is  valuable;  'Warrior'  is  an  excellent  trade-mark. 
There's  where  the  cleverness  comes  in.  Blaisdell  has 
formed  a  pool  to  raise  the  necessary  capital  by  an  issue  of 
bonds  with  a  bonus  of  new  stock;  and  I  understand  that 
he  has  the  whole  thing  underwritten." 

Mr.  Chippendale  was  silent  a  moment.    Though  he  had 


134  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

consistently  avoided  any  further  contact  with  commercial 
transactions  than  was  necessary  for  the  protection  of  the 
family  inheritance,  as  the  son  of  one  of  Boston's  leading 
merchants  he  deemed  himself  thoroughly  conversant  with 
traditional  business  methods  and  standards.  Doubtless 
he  had  been;  but  he  himself  was  the  first  to  acknowledge 
his  ignorance  of  this  modern  finance — syndicates,  under- 
writings,  reorganizations — as  well  as  to  shake  his  head 
over  it.  To  him  most  of  this  seemed  gambling,  but 
Chauncey  had  strenuously  pointed  out  that  there  was  no 
logical  moral  distinction  between  buying  stocks  on  an  ample 
margin  and  borrowing  on  bills  of  lading,  as  the  old-fash 
ioned  merchants  did — and  had  cited  as  examples  both  his 
grandfather  Chippendale  and  his  grandfather  Baxter  who 
had  dealt  in  merchandise — cargoes  of  sugar,  hemp  and  mo 
lasses,  instead  of  certificates  of  railroads,  electric-light  plants 
and  industrial  corporations. 

"As  to  knowing  people  down-town,  Chauncey,  it  is  I 
who  am  practically  unknown."  Mr.  Chippendale  in 
tended  that  this  magnanimous  admission  should  illustrate 
appallingly  the  degeneracy  of  the  business  world.  "I  am. 
not  much  beyond  my  prime,"  he  continued,  laying  down 
his  newspaper  to  mark  the  seriousness  of  what  he  was 
about  to  utter,  "  and  yet  I  can  remember  when  Boston  was 
a  city  of  less  than  a  hundred  thousand  inhabitants.  To 
day  it  has  a  population  of  nearly  half  a  million.  My  father 
was  one  of  the  few  people — they  could  be  counted  on  the 
fingers  of  one  hand — who  kept  his  own  carriage.  He  dined 
at  half-past  two  o'clock.  I  was,  I  think,  the  first  person 
in  Boston  to  advance  my  dinner-hour  to  five  o'clock,  and 
I  was  characterized  as  ultra-fashionable  because  of  it. 
Now  we  try  to  stick  to  seven,  but  since  your  sister  Georgi- 
ana  came  out  our  dinner-parties,  as  you  know,  have  been 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  135 

at  half-past,  and  only  yesterday  your  mother  intimated 
that  unless  we  were  content  to  be  regarded  as  old-fashioned, 
we  must  have  them  at  eight  henceforth.  No  one  can  ac 
cuse  me  of  undue  conservatism;  your  uncle  Baxter,  for 
instance,  and  your  Aunt  Georgiana  continue  to  live  on 
Beacon  Hill  and  both  still  dine  at  half-past  two;  I  have 
always  sought  to  keep  abreast  of  the  times.  But  with  all 
these  innovations  social  and  financial — in  manners  and 
men — balls  which  cost  several  thousands  and  fortunes 
amassed  over  night,  I  do  not  see  where  we  are  coming  out  as 
individuals  or  a  people.  And  as  to  national  politics — 

"I'm  a  bull  on  this  country  for  a  long  pull,  father;  the 
man  who  goes  short  of  it  is  sure  to  come  out  at  the  small 
end  of  the  horn,"  interposed  Chauncey,  who  in  his  capacity 
as  an  embryo  banker  and  a  loyal  member  of  the  Repub 
lican  Club  felt  moved  to  resent  these  strictures.  He  knew 
almost  by  heart  his  father's  unfavorable  estimate  of  both 
the  great  parties.  "  By  the  way,  I  heard  Blaisdell  the  other 
day  make  exactly  that  reply  to  a  doubting  Thomas  who 
was  predicting  financial  disaster.  That  fellow  has  a  mag 
netic  way  of  stating  things.  The  same  words  in  another 
man's  mouth,"  he  continued  with  a  smile,  "don't  sound 
half  so  convincing;  but  I  believe  that  the  remark  is  true 
just  the  same,  though  I  understand  perfectly  what  you 
mean,  father,  and  I  sympathize  to  a  certain  extent  with 
your  criticisms." 

Mr.  Chippendale's  lip  trembled.  Pessimistic  as  he  was 
regarding  the  political  outlook,  he  had  not  renounced 
the  hope  that  his  son  might  succeed  in  the  line  where  he 
himself  had  been  disappointed — might  some  day  win  dis 
tinction  in  public  affairs.  If  Chauncey  could  conscien 
tiously  sit  on  either  party  platform,  so  much  the  better  for 
him,  though  he  himself  could  not.  "I  am  glad,  of  course, 


136  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

to  see  that  you  are  patriotic,"  he  said  fervently,  and  then, 
by  way  of  obviating  the  necessity  of  more  compromising 
euphemisms,  he  inquired:  "So  you  know  this  Mr. 
Blaisdell?" 

"I  have  met  him  in  a  business  way.  He's  a  perfect 
wonder  both  at  anticipating  what  the  public  needs  and  at 
putting  things  through.  He  would  interest  you,  I  think. 
He  has  been  only  six  years  on  the  Street,  yet  every  one  who 
has  a  new  scheme  to  float  takes  it  first  to  Blaisdell.  If  he 
goes  in,  there's  sure  to  be  good  money  in  it." 

Mr.  Chippendale  winced  a  little  both  at  the  renewal  of 
the  lingo  and  because  he  was  unpleasantly  reminded  that 
while  every  one  else  appeared  to  be  growing  rich,  he  was 
steadily  becoming  poorer.  How  long  it  seemed  since  he 
had  listened -to  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson's  lectures  and  re 
solved  to  obey  the  injunction  to  hitch  his  wagon  to  a  star ! 

"It  is  not  probable  that  we  shall  ever  meet,"  he  said 
dryly. 

"One  can  never  tell  nowadays,  father.  He's  not  our 
sort  exactly,  I  admit,  but  he's  making  money  hand  over 
fist,  and  a  few  people  who  count  are  taking  him  up.  I 
heard  a  rumor  the  other  day  that  he's  looking  for  a  house 
on  Commonwealth  Avenue.  At  present  he  lives  some 
where  in  the  suburbs,  I  believe."  Then  uttering  the 
thought  which  suddenly  occurred  to  him,  Chauncey  ex 
claimed,  "You  might  let  him  have  ours.  He  wouldn't 
mind  paying  a  good  price,  if  it  happened  to  suit  him." 

Mr.  Chippendale  shuddered,  but  it  was  because  his 
secret  had  been  suddenly  exposed.  He  knew  that  Chaun 
cey  knew  that  he  was  spending  more  than  he  could  afford, 
and  that  he  was  harassed  by  the  increase  in  the  cost  of 
living,  but  he  had  never  confided  to  him  that  he  had  for 
the  past  six  months  been  considering  the  very  mortifying 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  137 

step  of  putting  the  Commonwealth  Avenue  house  into  the 
hands  of  a  broker  for  sale.  But  he  answered  like  one  re 
solved  to  set  up  every  available  obstacle.  "We  must 
stay  here  at  least  until  your  sister  Georgiana  is  married. 
After  she  and  you  have  left  us,  we  should  not  need  so  large 
a  house.  Besides,  where  should  we  go?" 

"That's  easy.  Remain  on  the  North  Shore  all  winter. 
All  you  would  need  is  a  larger  furnace.  The  girls  could 
make  visits  and  mama  and  Georgiana  might  take  apart 
ments  at  a  hotel  for  a  month  or  two  during  the  dancing 
season." 

"At  a  hotel?"  groaned  Mr.  Chippendale.  "Your 
mother  would  not  fancy  that."  Indeed,  the  entire  pro 
gramme  was  bewildering  to  one  who  could  recall  the  time 
when  no  good  Bostonian  went  to  the  seaside  earlier  than 
the  2oth  of  June,  and  every  one  planned  to  return  before 
the  equinoctial  storm  traditionally  due  the  last  week  in 
September. 

"There's  no  use  in  trying  to  keep  up  appearances  when 
we  haven't  got  the  money." 

There  was  an  unequivocal  frankness  about  this  state 
ment  which  caused  Mr.  Chippendale's  lip  to  tremble  again 
with  approbation.  He  was  proud  that  his  son  had  been  the 
first  to  betray  sensitiveness  on  such  a  point.  "Certainly 
not,  Chauncey;  you  know  me  too  well  for  that,"  he  said, 
and  each  looked  at  the  other  understanding  that  no  fur 
ther  words  were  necessary. 

But  Chauncey  chose  to  philosophize  on  the  situation. 
44  It's  rotten  to  be  poverty-stricken  nowadays,"  he  declared. 
"  One  needs  so  many  things." 

"Poverty-stricken?  We  are  very  far  from  poverty- 
stricken,"  answered  Mr.  Chippendale  with  stately  empha 
sis.  "You  must  not  forget,  Chauncey,  that  when  my 


138  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

father  died  I  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  wealthiest  men  in 
Boston." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  know.  But  we  are  paupers  now — relatively 
speaking,  of  course,  yet  to  all  intents  and  purposes  pau 
pers  according  to  the  standards  of  the  day.  I  doubt  if  you 
realize,  father,  what  stacks  of  money  some  of  your  friends 
and  many  others  all  around  us  have  been  accumulating  in 
railroads,  mines  and  industrials." 

"How  you  young  people— of  both  sexes— love  to  exag 
gerate!  The  standards  of  the  day  are  responsible  for  that, 
too;  extravagance  in  expenditure  goes  hand  in  hand  with 
extravagance  in  speech.  As  an  example,  take  one  inde 
corous  word  which  you  use — girls  as  well  as  men — the 
word  'rotten.'  Everything  of  which  you  do  not  entirely 
approve  is  rotten;  the  most  inappropriate  subject — a  rainy 
day,  a  woman's  dress,  an  inartistic  building,  a  dull  book 
or  sermon — is  rotten.  Up- town  the  favorite  slang  is  'rotten' ; 
down-town  it  appears  to  be  'industrial.' " 

Chauncey  laughed  appreciatively.  Every  now  and  then 
his  father  showed  himself  unexpectedly  discerning  in  re 
gard  to  ordinary  mundane  matters.  He  was  wont  to  think 
of  him  as  more  or  less  on  a  pedestal  absorbed  in  the  larger 
philosophies  of  life,  but  occasionally  he  revealed  that  he 
had  been  cognizant  all  the  time  of  what  was  going  on 
under  his  eyes.  "It's  no  worse  than  'beastly'  among  the 
English,  is  it  ?  Simply  a  case  of  what  Professor  Paton  used 
to  call  poverty  of  language." 

"Exactly,  and  therefore  a  social  blemish." 
"And  as  to  the  other  word — we  are  an  industrial  nation. 
But  it's  true,  father;  compared  to  other  people,  our  par 
ticular  branch  of  the  family  is  hard  up."  Chauncey  thrust 
his  hands  in  the  side  pockets  of  his  well-fitting  sack  coat 
and  rocked  himself  on  his  heels,  as  if  to  imply  that  further 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  139 

argument  on  that  point  would  be  wasted  on  him.  "But 
that  reminds  me,  speaking  of  the  very  rich,  I  saw  by  the 
list  of  stockholders  that  Uncle  Baxter  and  Aunt  Georgiana 
still  have  their  Warrior  Mills  shares." 

"I  know,"  said  Mr.  Chippendale  with  a  sigh.  "They 
could  afford  to  hold  them.  Your  Uncle  Baxter  never  sold 
anything  in  his  life." 

"And  he  can't  spend  more  than  one  quarter  of  his  in 
come.  They  say  on  the  Street  that  he  is  nearly  fat  enough 
10  kill,  just  rotten  with  money — excuse  me,  father — rolling 
in  accumulated  riches,  reams  on  reams  of  municipal  bonds 
and  gilt-edged  certificates  which  have  quadrupled  in  value 
since  he  bought  them.  He  doesn't  speculate  in  the  modern 
sense,  but  all  his  investments  keep  hatching  eggs.  Aunt 
Georgiana  must  ante  up  more  or  less  for  the  diffusion  of 
culture  and  for  charities,  but,"  he  added  with  a  chuckle, 
"  the  story  is  she  makes  it  up  in  wildcats  on  the  sly." 

Mi  .  Chippendale  frowned,  but  it  was  from  doubt  as  to 
the  mv^aning  of  the  last  word.  He  knew  that  no  disrespect 
was  intended  by  these  colloquialisms  and  mixed  metaphors. 
He  was  familiar  with  the  free  and  easy  language  of  the  ris 
ing  generation,  even  where  their  elders  were  concerned, 
dissimilar  as  it  was  to  the  mode  of  address  when  he  was 
young. 

"Low-priced  mining  shares,  brand-new  inventions, 
things  in  which  there  may  be  a  fortune,  but  which  generally 
prove  wa^rte  paper,"  Chauncey  explained.  "I  know  she 
had  Telephone  from  the  start.  Mr.  Langdon  told  me  so." 

"Did  she  really?"  said  Mr.  Chippendale  soberly. 
Telephone  was  one  of  those  marvellous  cases  in  point 
which  had  "hatched"  many  "eggs"  for  people  he  knew. 
"Yes,  with  their  exemption  from  extraordinary  expenses, 
they  must  be  wealthy  by  this  time." 


140  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

"And  both  are  wonderfully  well  preserved;  look  as  if 
they  were  good  for  ninety." 

Mr.  Chippendale  frowned  again,  this  time  from  disrel 
ish  of  the  insinuation,  although  he  knew  that  it  was  merely 
jocose  and  emanated  from  that  current  lack  of  reverence 
which  was  liable  to  indulge  in  humor  even  beside  the  open 
grave.  This  appeared  to  be  one  of  the  privileges  of  the 
young  in  a  democratic  country. 

He  said,  "You  remember  your  Aunt  Georgiana  did  not 
approve  of  your  becoming  a  stock-broker,  and  your  Uncle 
Baxter  is— er— a  peculiar  man." 

Chauncey  laughed  and  responded,  "Oh,  yes,  I'm  quite 
prepared  to  see  Harvard  and  the  Tech  and  the  Massachu 
setts  General  Hospital  get  it  all  so  far  as  I'm  concerned. 
That  makes  it  the  more  imperative  for  me  to  grow  rich  on 
my  own  account." 

"It  is  one  thing  to  be  a  stock-broker,  another  to  buy 
stocks  for  investment,"  said  his  father.  "Aunt  Georgiana 
merely  was  desirous  to  see  you  emulate  the— er— standards 
of  the  Chippendales  and  either  become  a  merchant  or  fol 
low  one  of  the  learned  professions,  displaying  incidentally 
a  proper  interest  in  civic  affairs.  You  know,  Chauncey, 
that  while  Langdon's  offer  was  flattering,  of  course,  I 
myself  have  never  been  entirely  reconciled  to  your  choice 
of  an  occupation.  This  and  the  circumstance  that  you 
were  selected  from  the  foot-ball  squad  rather  than  the 
rank  list  were  two  of  the  great  surprises  of  my  life.  1 1 
know  what  you  will  answer,"  continued  Mr.  Chippendale,  i 
putting  up  his  hand  to  prevent  any  interruption  on  the  part 
of  his  smiling,  immaculate-looking  son.  "You  will  say,  as 
you  have  a  dozen  times  already,  that  it's  the  fashion— the 
correct  thing,  as  you  call  it— for  a  young  man  who  desires 
to  make  money  quickly  to  go  into  a  broker's  office— be- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  141 

come  a  broker  of  some  kind,  stock-broker,  note-broker, 
cotton-broker,  real-estate  broker,  but  a  broker  of  some 
kind;  generally  and  preferably,  it  seems,  a  stock-broker." 

"Because  it's  the  surest  way  to  make  money  quickly, 
don't  you  see,  father?  We  have  to  in  order  to  get  married 
before  we're  fifty;  otherwise  we  can't  give  the  girls  what 
they  are  accustomed  to." 

Chauncey  rose  as  he  concluded  and,  buttoned  his  coat, 
for  it  was  time  to  go  down- town. 

"  An  aristocracy  of  stockholders  is  an  anomaly."  It  was 
on  the  tip  of  Mr.  Chippendale's  tongue  to  enlarge  upon  this 
pungent  statement,  but  he  refrained.  After  his  son  had 
departed  he  did  not  at  once  return  to  his  newspaper.  It 
was  becoming  more  and  more  apparent  to  him  not  only 
that  the  spirit  of  the  times  had  changed  lamentably  for 
the  worse  but  that  his  son  had  become  inoculated  with  it. 
Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  he  could  not  deny  that  Chauncey 
had  taken  hold  of  his  work  with  ardor  and  was  now  at 
the  end  of  five  years  occupying  a  responsible  position  with 
his  employers,  Langdon  &  Company,  who  held  out  hopes 
of  a  junior  partnership  in  the  dim  future.  This  was  some 
thing  to  be  proud  of,  and,  of  course,  he  was  proud  of  him. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  the  whole  trend  of  society  was  so 
repugnant  to  his  traditions,  that  he  found  himself  con 
tinually  in  a  state  of  bewilderment. 

Mr.  Chippendale  sighed  once  more  and  picked  up  his 
newspaper  again,  which  he  read  carefully  for  half  an 
hour,  at  the  end  of  which  he  cast  it  aside  with  a  grunt 
— evidently  dissatisfied  with  the  contents.  At  ten  o'clock 
he  started  to  walk  down-town,  by  way  of  Commonwealth 
Avenue,  the  Public  Garden  and  Beacon  Street.  In  the 
Public  Garden  he  scrutinized  the  trees  to  make  sure 
that  the  city  forester  was  attending  to  his  duty,  and  de- 


142  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

plored  to  himself  the  garish  horticultural  taste  displayed 
in  the  embellishment  of  the  flower-beds.  Secretly  he  rather 
admired  the  general  enlivening  effect,  but  he  had  been  in 
formed  by  certain  critics  that  the  place  was  a  hotch-potch 
of  heterogeneous  trees  and  shrubs;  moreover,  he  cherished 
suspicions  that  the  public  official  in  charge  supported  an 
army  of  cousins  and  other  political  retainers  in  caring  for 
them.  Half-way  up  Beacon  Street  he  turned  into  the 
Common  in  order  to  observe  the  squirrels.  It  was  one  of 
his  pet  grievances — one  more  sign  of  the  changing  times— 
that  most  of  the  squirrels  had  disappeared.  At  one  period 
— when  he  was  a  young  man — they  were  a  feature  of  the 
mall,  sleek,  aristocratic-looking  fellows,  with  long,  bushy 
tails,  who  frisked  unmolested  among  the  elms.  He  had 
habitually  carried  a  few  nuts  in  his  pocket  with  which  to 
entice  them — though  they  had  stood  in  no  need  of  his 
bounty.  There  had  been  two  so  tame  that  they  allowed 
him  to  scratch  their  heads.  But  the  number  had  been 
steadily  diminishing  so  that  now  there  were  only  two  on 
the  entire  mall,  and  these  were  timid  and  draggled-looking. 
On  this  particular  morning  not  one  was  in  sight;  from 
which  Mr.  Chippendale  mournfully  concluded  that  some 
cat  or  dog  or  ruthless  boy  must  have  killed  them.  His  in 
dignation  rose  at  the  thought,  for  twice  within  the  past  year 
he  had  sent  a  communication  on  the  subject  to  the  Tran 
script,  signed  with  his  initials,  in  which  he  had  urged  pro 
tection  of  the  squirrels  on  the  score  that  they  sucked  the 
eggs  of  the  English  sparrows  and  so  might  be  made  effi 
cient  allies  against  these  prolific  pests.  But  thus  far  the 
authorities  had  failed  to  act  on  his  suggestion.  Not  infre 
quently  on  his  way  down-town  he  called  on  his  sister 
Georgiana,  and  the  hope  of  interesting  her  in  his  grievance 
moved  him  to  do  so  now. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  143 

Miss  Georgiana  Chippendale  was  a  woman  of  wide 
sympathies  and  abundant  energy,  who  invariably  lent  a 
sympathetic  ear  not  only  to  the  wrongs  of  the  oppressed, 
but  to  every  philanthropic,  educational  or  aesthetic  novelty. 
She  made  liberal  contributions  to  many  charities,  but  her 
moral  support  was  no  less  valuable  than  her  money,  for 
in  whatever  cause  she  happened  to  be  absorbed— and 
there  was  at  least  one  new  one  each  year— she  showed 
herself  an  indefatigable  partisan  and  fertile  in  resources. 

As  has  been  indicated  already,  she  still  clung  to  Beacon 
Hill  not  far  from  its  crest,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  State 
House.  Her  brother  Baxter  lived  on  Park  Street,  scarcely 
more  than  a  stone's  throw  away.  Hers  was  the  old  family 
mansion,  the  windows  of  which  commanded  the  Common. 
Its  stoop  was  guarded  by  an  old-fashioned  iron  railing 
which  curved  away  on  either  side  of  the  steps  until  it 
wound  itself  into  two  circular  posts  each  surmounted  by  a 
shining  brass  knob.  The  glass  over  the  front  door  was 
fan-shaped,  the  door  itself  white,  with  a  ponderous  handle 
of  the  same  metal  as  the  bell  and  the  solid,  carefully  pol 
ished  door-plate  on  which  the  name  "Chippendale"  was 
engraved  in  script. 

Miss  Chippendale's  equipage,  a  brougham  with  two 
horses,  was  in  front  of  the  house  at  the  moment  her  brother 
rang.  When  there  was  sleighing,  she  substituted  for  this 
vehicle  a  booby-hut,  so  called— the  same  which  her  mother 
had  used  and  one  of  the  last  of  its  pattern— a  closed  car 
riage  on  runners  attached  to  a  curving  framework  and 
sunk  so  low  that  the  bulky  body  almost  touched  the 
ground.  As  the  servant  opened  the  door,  she  was  stand 
ing  in  the  front  hall  dressed  to  go  out,  and  evidently  not 
disposed  to  linger,  for  her  welcome/though  sisterly,  was 
incisive. 


144  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Well,  Harrison,  what  is  it?" 

In  the  next  breath,  as  if  she  could  not  resist  the  tempta 
tion  to  exult,  she  added:  "I  told  you  not  to  sell  your  War 
rior  Mills.  I  knew  they  wouldn't  go  begging  long." 

"With  my  expensive  family  I  couldn't  afford  to  take  the 
risk.  If  I  had  been  you  or  Baxter,  I  would  have  held  on." 

"  The  trouble  with  you,  Harrison,  is  that  instead  of  con 
trolling  your  expenses  you  let  your  expenses  control  you. 
Those  girls  of  yours  are  eating  you  out  of  house  and  home. 
Why  don't  they  get  married?" 

Like  her  brother  Baxter,  Miss  Chippendale  was  portly, 
but  she  was  taller  than  he  and  not  so  stout,  an  advantage 
which  she  ascribed  to  taking  what  she  called  regular  exer 
cise  and  avoiding  water  between  meals.  Her  features  were 
rather  plain,  but  strongly  marked  and  individual — a  good- 
sized  roman  nose,  a  firm,  pleasant  though  large  mouth,  and 
quick-moving,  humorous  eyes  which,  though  they  probed 
the  person  she  was  gazing  at,  were  also  the  mirror  of  her 
own  emotions.  She  was  a  fine-looking  woman  for  sixty- 
five,  and  she  habitually  stated  that  she  was  strong  as  a 
horse.  Certainly  she  looked  so.  Her  feminine  contem 
poraries  were  apt  to  declare  that  she  was  more  nearly 
handsome  than  ever  before  in  her  life.  This  was  an  exag 
geration,  of  course,  though  she  had  not  been  what  could 
be  termed  a  pretty  girl.  Moreover,  at  twenty-one  she  had 
been  stiff  and  a  sufferer  from  the  self-conscious  conviction 
that  the  young  men  who  paid  her  attentions  were  attracted 
by  her  money.  Now  she  knew  that  no  one  wished  to  marry 
her,  and  she  was  equally  sure  that  she  did  not  wish  to 
marry  any  one.  But  she  had  her  five  nieces  a  little  on  her 
mind. 

"Georgie  has  several  young  men  devoted  to  her,  I  be 
lieve.    I  stopped  to  speak  about  the  squirrels." 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  145 

As  he  spoke,  Mr.  Chippendale  drummed  lightly  with  his 
cane  on  the  tiles  of  the  vestibule.  He  was  standing  on  the 
brush  mat  between  the  doors  and  his  way  appeared  to  be 
blocked,  for  Miss  Georgiana,  who  was  on  the  threshold  of 
the  inner  door,  attended  by  a  maid  carrying  the  carriage 
rug  and  some  parcels,  showed  no  disposition  to  let  him  in. 
But  whatever  the  upshot  might  have  been  had  not  Miss 
Chippendale  suddenly  remembered  something,  it  hap 
pened  that  she  wheeled  about  and,  abandoning  her  posi 
tion,  walked  sturdily  back  to  the  hall. 

"Miss  Avery?"  she  cried  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 
Thereupon  Mr.  Chippendale  took  advantage  of  the  oppor 
tunity  to  step  inside.  As  he  glanced  at  the  familiar  ob 
jects  in  the  high-studded  but  narrow  hall,  at  the  marble 
bust  in  one  corner  and  the  ornamental  card-receiver  on  a 
stand  in  another,  and  at  the  gilt  clock  on  the  frame  under 
the  looking-glass,  he  listened  for  the  pleasant  voice  of  his 
sister's  factotum.  He  thought  well  of  the  young  woman  in 
question.  During  the  five  years  of  her  employment  as  sec 
retary  and  companion,  she  had  conducted  herself  with 
such  propriety  and  tact  as  to  win  the  approbation  of  the 
entire  family,  each  one  of  whom  had  come  more  or  less 
in  contact  with  her.  Was  she  not  bright,  spirited  and 
energetic,  with  plenty  to  say  for  herself,  yet  ladylike  in 
deportment?  Just  the  person  Georgiana  needed  to  an 
swer  her  correspondence  and  attend  to  the  details  of  the 
thousand  and  one  things  she  was  interested  in.  And  he 
judged  that  she  had  displayed  sense  in  the  matter  of  her 
relations  with  his  nephew  Henry  Sumner.  If  there  had 
ever  been  anything  serious  in  that  affair,  evidently  it  had 
blown  over;  which  was  to  her  credit,  for  a  designing 
girl  might  have  taken  advantage  of  such  youthful  infat 
uation. 


146  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Priscilla  came  tripping  downstairs  in  response  to  the 
summons. 

"You  may  send  the  cheque  for  fifty  dollars  on  my  desk 
to  the  Treasurer  of  the  Home  for  Superannuated  Actors. 
He  wrote  a  week  ago  that  their  accounts  for  last  year  show 
a  deficit.  Those  poor  little  widows  have  driven  everything 
else  out  of  my  head." 

Miss  Chippendale  continued,  turning  toward  her  brother 
after  giving  this  direction,  "Just  fancy,  Harrison,  being 
married  when  a  mere  child  to  a  man  old  enough  to  be  your 
grandfather  and  then  being  ostracized,  treated  as  the  scum 
of  the  earth,  because  you  don't  insist  on  lying  down  on  his 
funeral  pile  and  being  cremated  with  him  although  it  is 
forbidden  by  law.  Bisesa  Dass  says  it's  all  true.  She  lec 
tures,  and  has  come  out  from  India  to  raise  money  to 
educate  the  poor  little  things  and  help  change  public  sen 
timent  out  there.  She  has  brought  letters  to  me,  and — 
and  here  are  four  tickets."  Miss  Chippendale,  having 
fumbled  for  a  moment  in  the  little  reticule  she  carried, 
produced  them.  "I've  agreed  to  be  responsible  for  fifty. 
You  needn't  pay  anything,  but  I  expect  your  girls  to  be 
present— at  this  house  next  Wednesday  at  four — and 
Georgiana  to  pour  tea.  Miss  Avery  has  been  sitting  up 
at  night  getting  out  the  circulars.  We  can't  afford  to  fold 
our  hands  in  Boston  and  let  persecution  like  that  continue, 
especially  now  that  this  wonderful  telephone  is  going  to 
bring  the  whole  world  within  speaking  distance.  'The 
Emancipation  of  the  Suttee,'  that's  the  title  of  the  lecture, 
and  I've  got  all  my  patronesses— a  stunning  list.  People 
are  curious  to  see  Bisesa  Dass  in  her  Hindoo  costume." 

"She's  a  suttee  herself — was  a  widow  at  twelve,  Mr. 
Chippendale,"  explained  Priscilla.  "Only  think  of  that." 

"And  there  will  be  lantern-slides  illustrative  of  other 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  147 

oriental  superstitions  and  of  oriental  scenery,"  added  Miss 
Chippendale  majestically. 

"Under  the  personal  supervision  of  Mr.  Henry  Sum- 
ner,"  added  Priscilla  by  way  of  completing  the  programme, 
and  because  that  feature  of  it  amused  her  a  little. 

"Which  will  atone  in  some  measure,"  said  Miss  Chip 
pendale,  "for  his  conduct  about  his  wall-paper.  He  has 
looked  pale  lately,  Harrison,  and  I  was  convinced  that 
there  was  arsenic  in  his  wall-paper.  I  offered  to  have  it 
tested  and  to  pay  the  expense  of  a  new  one.  But  he 
wouldn't  consent.  He  declared  it  was  only  a  Boston  fad. 
It  appears  some  doctor  or  other  had  told  him  people  in 
New  York  never  have  arsenic-poisoning  from  wall-paper. 
As  if  that  made  any  difference." 

Mr.  Chippendale  shook  his  head  disapprovingly.  "It 
was  just  like  Henry.  If  he  is  not  careful,  his  positive  views 
will  blast  his  future  career.  No  one  admires  independence 
more  than  I  do,  but  a  young  lawyer  should  cultivate  tact 
if  he  desires  to  get  ahead."  Apart  from  the  merits  of  this 
particular  instance,  Mr.  Chippendale  was  glad  of  an  op 
portunity  to  keep  the  balance  even,  so  far  as  his  sister's 
favor  was  concerned,  between  his  son  and  Henry.  She 
might  disapprove  of  Chauncey's  choice  of  an  occupation, 
but  it  was  only  fair  to  point  out  that  her  other  grown-up 
nephew  was  not  perfect. 

"Well,  Henry  has  his  faults  like  the  rest  of  us;  but  I 
admire  a  man  who's  not  a  mush.  And  there's  one  thing 
about  him,  he's  a  regular  Chippendale." 

"  Of  course  he's  a  Chippendale;  his  mother  was  a  Chir> 
pendale."  It  was  clear  that  he  regarded  his  sister's  re 
mark  as  superfluous.  "I  only  meant  that  I  should  like  to 
see  him  a  little  less — er — uncompromising." 

"Well,  there's  some  one  who  agrees  with  you,"  she  said, 


148  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

indicating  Priscilla.  "She  professes  to  believe  that  he's 
obstinate  as  a  mule." 

"Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  Miss  Chippendale,"  an 
swered  Priscilla  with  a  laugh.  The  fact  that  she  was  sud 
denly  appealed  to  made  her  aware  that  she  had  not  for  a 
long  time  asked  herself  squarely  what  she  did  think  of  her 
impecunious  lover.  She  had  somehow  taken  for  granted 
that  her  opinion  of  him  had  remained  unaltered  in  every 
particular  since  the  day  when  he  had  naively  explained 
why  he  could  not  offer  himself  to  her.  And  yet,  as  she 
hastily  collected  her  wits  in  order  to  meet  her  employer's 
embarrassing  challenge,  she  became  conscious  that  the  in 
tervening  five  years  had  thrown  new  lights  on  that  partic 
ular  charge;  conscious  that  she  knew  now  not  merely  that 
he  had  really  been  impecunious  from  the  standpoint  of  his 
family  and  friends  at  the  time  of  their  ridiculous  interview, 
but  had  been  actuated  during  it  solely  by  delicate  consider 
ation  for  her.  In  other  words,  that  he  had  been  faithful  to 
an  ideal,  though  wofully  clumsy.  She  must  not  deny  or 
begrudge  him  this  justice,  whatever  else  she  thought  of 
him. 

"I  see  so  little  of  Mr.  Sumner  that  I  have  not  much  op 
portunity  of  judging  how  obstinate  he  can  be,"  she  said 
pleasantly. 

"And  whose  fault  is  that,  I  should  like  to  know?"  re 
torted  Miss  Chippendale,  who,  even  where  matters  of  the 
heart  were  concerned,  was  likely  to  be  blunt. 

"Of  course  he  is  very  much  occupied  with  his  profes 
sion,"  replied  Priscilla  glibly. 

"Gammon,"  ejaculated  Miss  Georgiana. 

But  the  explanation  impressed  Mr.  Chippendale  and 
caused  him  to  offer  Priscilla  moral  support.  Perhaps  he 
did  not  like  to  hear  his  sister  even  in  jest  encourage  a  ro- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  149 

mance  of  which  she  must  profoundly  disapprove.  "I 
fancy  that  a  young  lawyer  who  desires  to  succeed  must 
give  his  entire  mind  to  his  business." 

"I'm  sure  it  must  be  so,  Mr.  Chippendale,"  said  Pris- 
cilla  with  a  laugh. 

"But  young  men's  employments  have  changed  since 
my  day,"  he  resumed.  "When  I  first  went  down-town  I 
was  expected  to  be  there  at  eight  o'clock  and  my  duties 
were  menial — to  build  the  fire,  sweep  out  the  office 
and  clean  the  inkstands.  I  fancy  the  experience  did  me 
good." 

"I  doubt  it,  Harrison,"  exclaimed  his  sister. 

Priscilla  might  have  taken  advantage  of  Miss  Chippen 
dale's  attention  being  thus  diverted  to  avoid  further  ref 
erence  to  her  relations  with  Henry  Sumner.  Until  re 
cently  she  had  assumed  that  her  employer,  like  the  rest  of 
the  family,  was  grateful  to  her  for  having  nipped  his  youth 
ful  hopes  in  the  bud.  They  had  never  discussed  the  matter 
openly,  but  she  had  gathered  both  that  Miss  Chippendale 
was  aware  of  what  had  happened,  and  was  disposed  to 
make  fun  of  Henry's  matrimonial  intentions.  But  she 
thought  she  had  detected  lately  signs  of  a  purpose  on  her 
part  to  throw  them  together.  More  than  once  when  his 
name  had  been  introduced  Miss  Chippendale  had  made  ex 
cuses  for  him — though  decidedly  annoyed  by  his  attitude 
regarding  the  ravages  of  arsenic.  These  were  merely 
straws  which  might  mean  nothing.  But  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  were  taken  as  indications  that  Miss  Chippen 
dale  was  disposed  to  aid  her  nephew's  cause,  ought  she 
not,  since  she  had  been  treated  practically  like  a  daughter, 
to  make  clear  from  the  start  that  such  an  attitude  would 
only  be  a  waste  of  time  and  result  in  disappointment? 
Plainly  it  was  her  duty  to  do  this,  and  the  present  seemed 


150  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

a  favorable  opportunity  for  showing  how  little  real  sym 
pathy  there  was  between  herself  and  Henry.  Therefore 
she  said: 

"I  must  admit  that  when  we  do  meet  we  are  very  sure 
to  disagree."  Then  she  added  staunchly,  "And,  besides 
being  a  little  uncompromising,  the  pet  bone  of  contention 
between  Mr.  Sumner  and  me  has  always  been  that  he  is  so 
inclined  to  pick  flaws  in  the  things  which  other  people  are 
trying  to  accomplish."  The  summary  pleased  her;  she 
felt  that  she  had  stated  her  case  succinctly. 

"The  reason  is  obvious,  dear — because  he  is  so  full  of 
enthusiasms,"  responded  Miss  Georgiana. 

"Obvious?  Enthusiasms?  Enthusiasms?"  Priscilla 
gasped  in  her  dismay.  "I  consider  him  one  of  the  least 
enthusiastic  persons  I  ever  met  in  my  life."  This  might 
sound  like  a  liberty,  privileged  as  she  was  in  the  house 
hold,  but  she  could  not  refrain  from  expressing  her 
astonishment  and  dissent. 

"Then  you  can't  know  him  very  well,  after  all — not  so 
well  as  I  hoped  you  did,"  said  Miss  Georgiana,  with  a  toss 
of  her  head.  "If  you  don't  believe  me,  wait  and  see — 
wait  and  see." 

"  But  Henry  does  strike  one  at  times  as  a  little  too  vi 
sionary  in  practical  affairs,"  remarked  Mr.  Chippendale, 
drumming  gently  with  his  cane. 

"Come,  Harrison,  make  yourself  useful  and  give  me 
your  arm  down  these  slippery  steps.  What  was  that  about 
the  squirrels?" 

"The  last  two  have  disappeared.  They  have  not  been 
there  for  two  mornings.  You  saw  my  second  letter  in  the 
Transcript:1 

Miss  Chippendale  frowned  solicitously.  "It's  an  out 
rage.  Miss  A  very,"  she  added,  "write  to  the  Society  for 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  151 

the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals  and  say  that  my 
annual  subscription  of  fifty  dollars  will  not  be  continued 
unless  something  is  done  and  done  at  once  about  the 
squirrels  on  the  Common." 

"Thank  you,  Georgiana.  That  ought  to  produce  re 
sults  if  anything  can,"  said  Mr.  Chippendale,  and  he 
offered  his  arm  to  his  sister,  who  had  reached  the  vestibule. 
She  took  it,  but  judging  by  the  resolute  manner  in  which 
she  trudged  down  the  steps,  it  may  be  reasonable  to 
assume  that  she  had  invited  his  assistance  because  she  had 
something  private  to  say.  For,  as  she  clutched  his  sleeve, 
she  drew  him  toward  her  and  whispered : 

"Buy  Electric  Coke,  Harrison." 

"What?" 

"Buy  Electric  Coke." 

"What's  that?" 

"  A  stock — a  newly  patented  invention.  You  didn't  have 
any  Telephone,  you  remember.  I  did  and  it  has  treated  me 
uncommonly  well.  This  may  be  another."  She  spoke 
eagerly,  as  though  thrilled  by  the  possibility. 

So  Chauncey  was  right;  Georgiana  was  speculating. 
The  entire  social  order  seemed  bewitched — turned  topsy 
turvy.  "I  know.  But  I  never  speculate."  There  was  a 
plaintive  note  in  Mr.  Chippendale's  voice — the  severity  of 
high  principle  chastened  by  constant  bewilderment.  "  But 
it  was  very  kind  of  you  to  speak  of  it." 

She  paused  with  her  foot  on  the  step  of  the  brougham, 
whispering  so  that  the  coachman  should  not  overhear, 
"Don't  be  a  fool.  Buy  it.  Don't  you  ever  change  your 
investments?" 

"Occasionally,"  he  said,  with  the  dignity  of  one  who 
feels  himself  again  on  firm  ground. 

"Then  what's  the  distinction?    If  an  investment  goes 


152  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

wrong  it's  a  speculation,  and  if  a  speculation  goes  right  it's 
an  investment." 

While  her  brother  was  weighing  this  specious  proposi 
tion  she  climbed  into  her  carriage,  but  as  soon  as  she  was 
seated  she  put  her  face  across  the  window,  still  close  to  his. 

"Mr.  Blaisdell  says  it's  going  up." 

Her  mysterious  tone  indicated  that  she  named  an  author 
ity  which  would  be  deemed  indisputable.  It  disclosed 
also  delight  at  the  possession  of  secret  knowledge. 

"Mr.  Blaisdell?"  Mr.  Chippendale's  amazement  and 
disgust  were  so  great  that  he  involuntarily  asked,  "Who  is 
he?"  But  in  the  same  breath  he  added,  "Yes— yes,  I 
know.  But  where  have  you  met  him,  Georgiana?"  It 
did  not  seem  credible  that  this  newcomer,  however  omni 
present,  had  succeeded  in  invading  the  privacy  of  so  ultra- 
conservative  a  spot  as  Beacon  Hill  near  the  State  House. 

But  he  was  doomed  to  experience  just  this  shock,  ad 
ministered  with  gusto,  for  his  sister  was  burning  to  furnish 
the  final  proofs  of  her  sagacity. 

"I  met  him  here.  He  came  to  call  on  Priscilla — my 
Miss  Avery.  He's  her  brother-in-law.  We  got  talking 
and  he  explained  it  all  to  us — and  in  the  most  convincing 
way.  Electricity  manufactured  out  of  coal — a  brand-new 
process.  If  it  succeeds,  commercially  as  he  calls  it — and 
Mr.  Blaisdell  thinks  it's  bound  to  be  a  success — there  may 
be  a  fortune  in  it.  The  stock  has  only  just  begun  to  rise." 
Miss  Chippendale's  eyes  gleamed  as  the  result  of  the 
vision  they  beheld.  "It's  a  risk;  you  may  lose  all  you  put 
into  it;  I  won't  deny  that,  Harrison."  But,  after  empha 
sizing  the  word,  she  tapped  him  on  the  sleeve  and  putting 
her  lips  still  closer  to  his  ear  continued  triumphantly, 
"But  when  I  inform  you  that  the  man  who  invented  the 
process  is  Miss  Avery's  own  father,  and  that  Mr.  Hugh 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  153 

Blaisdell  is  his  son-in-law,  you'll  see  that  I'm  not  stark, 
staring  crazy.  Now  do  as  you  like."  Thereupon  Miss 
Chippendale  said  imperatively  to  the  coachman,  "You 
may  drive  on,  Thomas,"  and  sat  back  against  her  cush 
ions.  Before  her  brother  had  time  to  comment  appropri 
ately  on  what  he  had  heard,  her  brougham  was  under  way. 


CHAPTER  X 

MR.  CHIPPENDALE  resumed  his  walk  down-town  in  a 
perturbed  frame  of  mind.  The  fact  that  his  sister  Geor- 
giana  had  confirmed  by  her  own  words  the  suspicion, 
which  Chauncey  had  awakened,  that  she  had  a  secret 
habit  of  risking  money  in  hazardous  ventures,  was  discon 
certing,  but  not  so  much  so  as  that  she  should  be  on  fa 
miliar  terms  with  this  Mr.  Blaisdell.  As^  for  the  money, 
she  was  a  spinster  and  had  more  than  she  could  spend. 
He  did  not  approve  of  the  propensity;  it  was  contrary  to 
Chippendale  ideals  and  the  sound  business  principles  of 
the  Baxters;  but  his  sister  appeared  to  be  shrewd  or  at 
least  lucky — had  she  not  made  a  ten-strike  in  Telephone  ? 
— and  evidently  she  had  confided  in  him  in  order  to  do 
him  a  good  turn.  But  her  acquaintance  with  Blaisdell 
stuck  in  his  aristocratic  crop. 

Nor  was  the  shock  caused  him  by  her  reception  at  her 
own  house  of  this  rising  luminary  of  State  Street — a  man 
on  whom  he  himself  had  never  set  eyes — entirely  neutral 
ized  by  the  coincidence  that  Blaisdell  happened  to  be  Miss 
Avery's  brother-in-law.  It  was  to  be  expected  that  his  sis 
ter  Georgiana  in  the  course  of  promoting  the  live  move 
ments  of  the  day  should  be  brought  in  contact  more  or  less 


154  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

with  persons  in  a  different  walk  of  life — foreigners  like 
Bisesa  Dass,  major  or  minor  celebrities  who  presented  let 
ters  of  introduction,  and  pioneers  in  aesthetic  or  philan 
thropic  reforms.  As  one  who  stood  in  the  van  of  progress 
himself,  although  not  an  active  worker,  he  understood 
that  this  must  be  so.  But  the  present  case  was  essentially 
different.  Blaisdell  desired  a  permanent  footing  in  Bos 
ton,  and  had  been  in  business  there  but  a  short  time.  It 
behooved  such  a  man  to  be  modest;  yet  he  had  been  mak 
ing  abnormally  rapid  progress.  This  was  well  enough  on 
State  Street,  but  it  appeared  that  he  had  social  ambitions; 
at  least,  Chauncey  had  intimated  that  certain  people  were 
taking  him  up.  The  mental  picture  which  Mr.  Chippen 
dale  drew  was  of  a  plausible  upstart,  who,  as  he  chose  to 
believe,  had  gained  his  sister's  confidence,  if  not  admit 
tance  to  her  house,  by  thrusting  himself  forward  unduly. 
That  this  judgment  was  not  supported  by  actual  evidence 
—that  it  might,  indeed,  be  the  product  of  a  kink  in  his  own 
brain — Mr.  Chippendale  was  subconsciously  aware;  nev 
ertheless,  he  felt  convinced  that  he  was  right.  He  had  no 
intention  of  buying  Electric  Coke;  to  do  so  would  be  con 
trary  to  his  principles.  A  more  serious  concern  was  that 
he  might  be  tempted  to  sell  his  Commonwealth  Avenue 
house  to  this  forth-putting  person. 

His  spirits  were  not  improved  by  stopping  at  the  Ath- 
ena'um  Library,  for  he  found  that  every  new  book  which 
he  wished  to  read  had  been  taken  out.  Having  mentioned 
the  fact  at  the  desk,  he  was  informed  that  in  order  to  be 
certain  of  obtaining  anything  new,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
be  there  as  early  as  the  library  was  opened.  Until  re 
cently  he  had  been  accustomed  to  find  something  desir 
able  left.  Mr.  Chippendale  deplored  the  extension  of 
modern  enterprise  to  literary  haunts  and  mournfully  re- 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  155 

fleeted  that  there  were  beginning  to  be  too  many  people  in 
Boston. 

He  still  maintained  a  small  office  where  he  employed  a 
single  clerk.  This  venerable  retainer,  who  had  been  in  his 
father's  service  and  who  continued  to  believe  that  the 
name  of  Chippendale  was  the  barometer  of  local  opinion 
in  all  matters  commercial  or  social,  kept  the  books  of  the 
Chippendale  estate,  an  elaborately  neat  if  solemn  process. 
Chauncey  referred  to  him  occasionally  as  a  fuddy-duddy, 
and  advised  pensioning  him,  a  suggestion  which  struck 
Mr.  Chippendale  as  flippant  and  almost  heartless.  The 
latter  relied  on  his  subordinate  for  all  routine  information. 
He  himself  merely  looked  the  ledgers  over  casually  once 
a  year  and  endorsed  the  dividend  cheques  of  his  factory 
shares  as  they  became  due.  Mr.  Chippendale's  habit  was 
to  visit  his  office  twice  a  week,  Mondays  and  Thursdays. 
What  he  had  to  do  there,  including  the  perusal  of  another 
newspaper  and  the  feeding  of  some  tame  city  pigeons  who 
flew  down  to  the  window-sill  from  their  shelter  in  the  eaves, 
ordinarily  occupied  him  less  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 
After  this  it  was  his  custom  to  drop  in  at  Horatio  Lang- 
don  &  Company,  the  bankers.  He  had  done  so  for  years, 
long  before  Chauncey  had  been  summoned  from  the  foot 
ball  field  to  a  position  there.  The  practice  was  analogous 
in  his  mind  to  what  in  his  father's  time  had  been  termed 
going  on  'Change — the  days  when  the  old-fashioned  mer 
chants  dropped  in  about  noon  at  the  marine  insurance 
offices  to  underwrite  maritime  risks.  Chauncey  had  in- 
.  quired  once  in  a  perverse  mood  what  wagering  that  a  cer 
tain  vessel  would  not  founder  at  sea  was  if  not  gambling. 
This  remark,  too,  had  appeared  to  him  flippant.  He  him 
self  was  no  social  censor,  no  moral  ascetic;  there  was 
plenty  of  sporting  blood  in  his  veins,  and  he  had  always 


156  THE   CHIPPENDACES 

been  regarded  as  the  progressive  member  of  the  family. 
He  comprehended  perfectly  that  the  man  who  could  make 
two  dollars  grow  where  there  was  only  one  before  was  no 
less  to  be  revered  than  he  who  could  do  the  same  with 
blades  of  grass;  but  was  there  not  a  wide  difference  be 
tween  this  and  modern  wholesale  speculation?  His  half- 
weekly  visits  to  Horatio  Langdon's  office  were  ostensibly 
for  the  purpose  of  hearing  how  this  or  that  mill  was  doing 
and  of  inquiring  the  price  of  cotton,  the  staple  on  which 
their  profits  were  based;  incidentally  he  heard  the  current 
gossip  of  the  day,  how  large  a  property  this  acquaintance 
had  left  and  how  rapidly  the  country  was  going  to  the  devil. 
It  may  be  truly  said  of  Mr.  Chippendale  that  while  he 
was  musing  the  fire  had  burned.  While  he  had  been  pot 
tering  in  and  out,  content  to  know  what  dividends  his 
manufacturing  shares  were  earning,  he  had  been  practi 
cally  deaf  to  the  lingo,  as  he  called  it,  concerning  the  new 
enterprises  seething  around  him.  The  siren  voice  of 
speculation  had  whispered  in  his  ear  from  time  to  time, 
but  he  had  not  listened.  Why  should  a  man  of  his  means 
and  standing  take  unnecessary  risks  of  which  he  under 
stood  nothing?  What  his  son  Chauncey  would  have  de 
scribed  as  "straight  tips"  had  been  given  to  him  more  than 
once  by  Horatio  Langdon  himself,  who  had  even  assured 
him  that  he  was  neglecting  a  great  opportunity,  but  he  had 
shaken  his  head.  Mr.  Chippendale  had  in  some  respects 
the  memory  of  an  elephant;  he  kept  stored  in  his  mind  the 
names  of  prime  ventures  which  had  failed,  though  he  might 
overlook  those  which  had  prospered  marvellously.  Con 
sequently  when  he  was  twitted  with  such  things  as  "Tele 
phone,"  he  could  retaliate  by  naming  certain  railroads 
which  had  gone  into  the  hands  of  receivers,  and  mines 
which  had  become  mere  holes  in  the  ground. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  157 

He  had  been  mentally  blind  also,  to  all  intents  and  pur 
poses,  to  the  wonderful  physical  changes  in  the  banking 
and  brokerage  business  which  had  been  taking  place  under 
his  very  nose.  When  he  had  first  begun  to  drop  in  at 
Langdon  &  Company's,  their  offices  were  cramped,  the 
facilities  limited  and  on  a  small  scale.  Since  then  the  firm 
had  twice  enlarged  its  quarters,  and  latterly  had  trans 
planted  itself  to  the  entire  ground  floor  of  a  spacious  mod 
ern  building.  Here  an  army  of  accountants,  clerks  and 
stenographers  had  replaced  the  single  bookkeeper  and  two 
or  three  office  assistants  of  former  days.  The  constant 
squeak  of  electric  bells  competed — for  everything  savored 
of  competition — with  the  noise  of  the  ticker  and  the  dis 
tant  clicking  of  numerous  type-writing  machines.  Lang 
don  &  Company  was  now  a  great  hive  of  industry  subdi 
vided  into  departments,  each  with  a  competent  head  who 
received  a  liberal  salary. 

All  these  innovations  had  occurred  during  Mr.  Chippen 
dale's  manhood.  He  had  been  sensible,  of  course,  of  the 
gradual  changes,  but  their  commercial  significance  had 
been  lost  upon  him.  While  he  was  proud  of  the  growth  of 
his  native  city,  he  fondly  recalled  the  low  and  dingy  office 
buildings  without  elevators,  and  the  more  deliberate  busi 
ness  methods.  When  he  entered  the  offices  of  Langdon  & 
Company,  people  who  did  not  know  him  looked  at  him 
twice,  for  obviously  he  belonged  to  the  old  school.  He  was 
always  scrupulously  dressed,  and,  in  spite  of  his  out-of- 
date  tall  hat,  he  had  the  effect  of  a  man  both  of  breeding 
and  of  fashion.  If  the  clerks  smiled  at  one  another  occa 
sionally  behind  his  back  because  his  orders  were  so  insig 
nificant,  his  courteous,  ceremonious  bearing  ensured  him 
the  freedom  of  the  banking-house,  which  was  felt  to  be  a 
gainer  in  respectability  through  his  presence. 


158  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

It  was  his  habit  not  to  leave  without  exchanging  a  few 
words  with  the  head  of  the  firm.  On  this  particular 
morning,  as  General  Langdon  happened  to  be  disengaged 
when  he  entered,  he^went  directly  to  his  desk.  The  banker, 
looking  up,  forestalled  what  he  supposed  was  on  his  friend's 
tongue  by  saying,  with  the  readiness  of  the  duck  which 
dives  at  the  flash  or  the  boxer  who  projects  his  forearm  to 
ward  off  an  anticipated  blow : 

"Good  morning,  Harrison.  I  suppose  you've  come  to 
haul  me  over  the  coals  because  I  advised  you  to  sell  your 
Warrior  Mills.  All  I  can  add  is  that  I  let  mine  go  at  the 
same  time  and  at  a  slightly  lower  figure."  Some  brokers 
endeavor  to  lead  away  the  conversation  from  painful  top 
ics  by  brisk  pleasantries,  others  rush  in  and  hypnotize  the 
victim  by  virtuous  or  pathetic  justification. 

"I  know,"  said  Mr.  Chippendale  gently.  "I  don't 
blame  you,  Horatio.  Chauncey  explained  to  me  that 
every  one  supposed  the  mills  were  completely  run  down. 
It  seems  to  have  been — er — the  fortune  of  war." 

"Ah,  Chauncey  explained  it,  did  he?  They  were  com 
pletely  run  down.  Exactly  that — the  fortune  of  war.  For 
it  didn't  occur  to  any  of  us  that  it  would  be  possible  to 
raise  the  necessary  capital  to  build  them  over  again.  An 
extraordinary  individual  that  man  Blaisdell.  Have  you 
met  him?" 

Mr.  Chippendale  shook  his  head.  He  may  have  frowned 
slightly,  though  he  did  not  intend  to,  for  General  Langdon 
added : 

"Not  exactly  our  kind,  Harrison,  but  a  new  and  inter 
esting  type." 

"Chauncey  has  told  me  something  about  him." 

"Chauncey  thinks  him  extraordinarily  able.  By  the 
way,  speaking  of  Chauncey,  he  is  doing  better  even  than 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  159 

I  believed  he  would.    I  will  tell  you  in  confidence  that  we 
shall  raise  his  salary  again  the  first  of  January." 

Mr.  Chippendale  bowed  and  his  lip  quivered. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  banker,  "he  is  justifying  the 
opinion  which  I  formed  the  first  day  I  set  eyes  on  him. 
'That  young  man,'  I  said  to  myself,  'has  grit  and  sterling 
principle — of  course  he  has,  for  he's  a  Chippendale. 
There's  nothing  like  thoroughbred  stock,  is  there,  whether 
it  be  in  horses  or  men?  I  tell  you,  Harrison" — leaning 
forward,  he  tapped  Mr.  Chippendale's  knee  as  he  spoke— 
"you've  got  a  devilish  manly,  capable  son — a  son  to  be 
proud  of.  Now  shut  up  and  forget  all  about  Warrior 
Mills." 

At  this  moment  the  telephone  bell  rang.  Picking  up  the 
receiver  from  his  desk,  General  Langdon  became  immersed 
in  conversation.  The  telephone  was  still  a  comparatively 
new  appliance.  As  a  man  of  progress,  Mr.  Chippendale 
had  recently  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  his  family  and  put 
one  into  his  house.  But  in  doing  so  he  had  acted  contrary 
to  what  he  called  his  better  judgment.  Was  not  the  tele 
phone  an  abettor  of  slovenly  living  in  that  its  use  encour 
aged  the  young  to  put  off  everything  to  the  last  minute? 
He  knew  that  his  sister  Georgiana  and  his  brother  Baxter 
accused  him  of  moral  cowardice  for  having  given  in. 
Commercially  speaking  he  could  perceive  that  it  was  a 
great  time-saver;  yet  would  it  not  be  distasteful  to  be 
obliged  to  think  so  quickly  on  the  spur  of  the  moment? 
Such  was  his  reflection  as  he  heard  the  sprightly  replies  of 
the  banker  to  the  person  at  the  other  end  of  the  line.  Then 
he  delicately  tried  to  think  of  other  things  in  order  not  to 
listen.  His  position,  though  forced  on  him,  was  too  much 
like  eavesdropping  or  looking  at  a  man  in  his  bath.  He 
recalled  with  a  glow  of  satisfaction  what  he  had  just  heard 


160  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

concerning  his  son.  He  remembered  also  that  his  wife,  a 
few  weeks  before,  had  let  fall  the  remark  that  Chauncey 
seemed  to  be  attracted  by  General  Langdon's  second 
daughter.  But,  in  spite  of  this  effort  to  close  his  ears  to 
what  was  being  said,  he  found  it  so  difficult  not  to  over 
hear  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  moving  away,  when  the 
conversation  ceased. 

"That  was  the  man  of  whom  we  were  just  speaking — 
Blaisdell."  General  Langdon  hesitated  a  moment,  then, 
thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  he  shot  this  remark  at  his  visitor:  "  Would  you 
like  to  gamble?" 

Mr.  Chippendale's  first  emotion  at  hearing  the  name  of 
Blaisdell  was  one  of  wonder  at  the  latter's  free  and  easy 
conduct  in  having  called  up  on  the  telephone  the  head  of 
the  banking-house  of  Langdon  &  Company  merely  be 
cause  he  wished  to  talk  to  him.  Before  he  could  bring 
himself  to  answer  the  rather  startling  inquiry,  the  banker 
did  it  for  him. 

"I  know  you  never  do.  And  this  time  you  might  lose 
every  dollar  you  put  in.  On  the  other  hand,  there  may  be 
big  money  in  it.  Blaisdell"— and  here  he  dwelt  on  the 
name  for  an  instant  like  one  citing  an  oracle — "  is  sure  there 
is.  He  thinks  that  it  is  likely  to  prove  one  of  the  great  com 
mercial  successes  of  the  age."  The  banker's  mouth  visibly 
watered  as  he  repeated  the  prediction. 

" Is  it  Electric  Coke?" 

General  Langdon  started  with  surprise.  "How  the 
dickens  did  you  ever  hear  of  Electric  Coke  ?  I  didn't  sup 
pose  Chauncey— 

"It  wasn't  from  Chauncey."  Mr.  Chippendale  felt  that 
he  could  not  give  his  authority.  He  did  not  wish  to  betray 
that  his  sister  was  speculating  at  the  instance  of  Blaisdell. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  161 

It  was  pleasant,  nevertheless,  for  once  to  show  himself 
alive  to  what  was  going  on  financially,  however  little  he 
might  be  tempted  by  the  lure. 

"WasitfromAvery?" 

"I  haven't  seen  Avery  since  we  were  in  the  army.  I 
doubt  if  I  should  know  him.  He  never  attends  the  reun 
ions." 

"He  hasn't  been  able  to  afford  it,  poor  chap.  He  has 
had  to  practise  strict  economy,  for  his  experiments  have 
swallowed  up  every  dollar  he  could  lay  his  fingers  on  and 
more,  too.  I've  helped  him  a  little — loaned  him  money  on 
his  future  patents — money  I  never  expected  to  see  again. 
Now  he  has  got  his  patents  and  organized  a  company — or 
rather,  Blaisdell,  who  married  his  step-daughter,  has. 
How  did  you  happen  to  know  they  were  connected?"  he 
asked,  noticing  the  other's  nod  of  acquiescence. 

A  plausible  explanation,  which  he  hastened  to  avail  him 
self  of,  occurred  to  Mr.  Chippendale.  "My  nephew 
Henry  Sumner,  used  to  know  one  of  the  daughters — Mr. 
Avery's  own  daughter,  I  believe." 

"I  see — I  see.  Queer  lad,  that  Henry  Sumner.  A  little 
shy,  isn't  he?  A  trifle  cranky,  too,  perhaps.  But  he'll 
work  out  of  that  presently,  I  dare  say.  His  father  was  a 
brave  man." 

"Henry  is  his  father's  son,"  replied  Mr.  Chippendale, 
wishing  to  stand  up  for  his  kinsman  and  yet  state  nothing 
inconsistent  with  his  own  mental  reservation.  "But  ex 
cepting  the  daughter,  the  families  are  not  otherwise 
acquainted."  Having  made  this  point  clear,  he  saw  no 
reason  for  divulging  that  Miss  Avery  was  his  sister's  com 
panion. 

General  Langdon,  surmising  that  the  Averys  were  indi 
rectly  the  source  of  Mr.  Chippendale's  knowledge  of  Elec- 


162  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

trie  Coke,  did  not  probe  further  but  said:  "We're  placing 
the  invention  on  the  market— this  house  and  Blaisdell's— 
and  from  the  point  of  view  of  a  speculation,  it  looks  to  me 
pretty  attractive.  There  are  to  be  underlying  bonds  and 
a  single  kind  of  stock.  The  subscriber  to  every  block  will 
get  $10,000  bonds  at  95  and  a  bonus  of  100  shares  of 
stock.  I  don't  guarantee,  Harrison,  that  it's  the  chance  of 
a  lifetime,  but  you  can  see  for  yourself  that  if  we  succeed 
commercially  in  manufacturing  electricity  out  of  coal,  the 
profits  may  be  fabulous.  Now  it's  up  to  you  to  say 
whether  you'll  come  in  or  stay  out.  You're  just  in  time,  for 
the  subscription  list  opens  to-morrow."  General  Langdon 
sat  back  again  in  his  chair,  conscious  that  he  had  made  an 
irreproachably  candid  statement.  If  the  venture  proved  a 
failure,  it  could  not  be  claimed  that  he  had  minimized  the 
risks.  In  case  it  turned  out  a  gigantic  success,  his  friend 
would  not  be  able  to  say  that  he  had  appeared  luke 
warm. 

"  Manufacturing  electricity  out  of  coal."  Mr.  Chip 
pendale,  having  finally  ascertained  what  Electric  Coke  sig 
nified,  repeated  the  words  by  way  of  meditating  on  them. 

"Yes,  from  ordinary,  every-day  coal.  Sounds  a  little  like 
extracting  gold  from  sea-water,  doesn't  it?  If  it'll  make 
you  feel  any  better,  I'll  confide  in  you  that  the  thing  is 
virtually  underwritten  already.  "  Blaisdell,"  he  added,  "  is 
simply  crazy  over  it,  though  he  always  supposed,  as  I  did, 
that  his  father-in-law's  invention  would  never  produce 
anything  more  practical  than  moonshine." 

Mr.  Chippendale  shook  his  head  and  rose.  "I've  no 
doubt  Electric  Coke  will  be  a  great  success.  I  hope  so, 
Horatio,  for  your  sake."  Then,  in  response  to  his  friend's 
look  of  disappointment,  he  said  simply,  "I  should  have  to 
borrow  the  money  in  order  to  go  in." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  163 

"We  should  be  glad  to  carry  the  subscription  as  long 
as  you  like.  Give  us  a  few  bonds  as  a  margin  and  we 
will  always  arrange  the  rest." 

"But  if  Electric  Coke  went  down  instead  of  up— 

"  You  would  have  to  pay  up,  of  course.  We  shall  peg  the 
price  for  a  year,  anyway."  Such  lack  of  business  knowl 
edge  made  the  banker  feel  a  little  impatient. 

Mr.  Chippendale's  hypothesis  was  a  statement  of  possi 
bilities,  not  a  symptom  of  doubt.  He  shook  his  head  and 
put  out  his  neatly  gloved  hand.  "Thank  you  very  much, 
Horatio.  I'm  old-fashioned  in  my  ideas;  moreover,  I 
know  nothing  about  syndicates."  Then  as  his  glance  rested 
on  a  familiar  figure  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  the  current 
quotations  in  the  outer  office,  he  pointed  with  his  cane  and 
said,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes: 

"There's  your  man." 

"Baxter?"  The  banker's  tone  was  one  of  amusement, 
and  yet  of  horror,  as  if  by  the  mere  suggestion  an  idol  had 
been  desecrated.  "  If  I  were  to  ask  him,  he  would  be  liable 
to  fall  down  in  a  fit.  He  isn't  progressive  like  you,  Harri 
son.  Everything  he  saves  he  salts  down  into  gilt-edged 
securities.  Baxter  must  be  a  very  rich  man  by  this  time," 
he  added  contemplatively,  "and  if  he  lasts  another  ten 
years,  as  he  bids  fair  to,  he  will  be  one  of  the  richest  men 
in  Boston.  The  secret  of  which  is  plain  as  the  nose  on 
your  face — he  doesn't  spend  anything  from  one  year's  end 
to  the  other." 

"While  I  am  spending  all  the  time.  The  moral  is  that  a 
progressive  man  who  desires  to  grow  rich  must  run  specu 
lative  risks." 

General  Langdon  did  not  dispute  this  morbid  philoso 
phy.  On  the  contrary,  he  accepted  the  challenge.  "He 
must  take  certain  chances.  That's  right.  In  other  words, 


164  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

when  a  good  thing  is  shoved  under  his  nose,  he  must  make 
the  most  of  it."  He  was  inclined  to  be  provoked.  Princi 
ples  were  all  very  well.  He  respected  Mr.  Chippendale  for 
his.  But  it  must  have  been  apparent  that  he  desired  to  be 
friend  him.  Had  he  not  done  everything  except  get  down 
on  his  bended  knees  and  offer  to  guarantee  the  proposi 
tion  ?  This  would  not  have  been  business ;  besides,  it  would 
have  been  insulting.  He  had  suspicions  that  his  friend's 
finances  were  troubling  him  a  little,  and  this  had  seemed 
the  opportunity  to  do  him  a  good  turn — to  do  more  than 
wipe  out  the  depreciation  on  Warrior  Mills.  To  be  sure, 
there  was  an  element  of  risk — but,  as  he  had  just  inti 
mated,  unless  a  man  took  an  occasional  chance  in  this 
world  of  competition,  he  could  not  expect  to  lay  up  any 
thing.  He,  too,  had  gathered,  not  without  satisfaction, 
that  Chauncey  and  his  second  daughter  were  intimate. 
The  family  connection  was  eminently  safe  and  was  unex 
ceptionable.  His  remarks  in  regard  to  Chauncey's  uncle 
led  him  to  reflect  that,  though  the  young  man's  patrimony 
would  be  slender,  he  would  presumably  inherit  from 
other  sources.  But,  cognizant  as  he  believed  himself  to  be 
of  Mr.  Chippendale's  attitude  and  affairs  in  general,  the 
banker  was  not  prepared  for  the  response  which  his  mild 
protest  evoked. 

"That  reminds  me — you  don't  happen  to  know  of  any 
one  who  would  like  to  buy  my  house?" 

"Your  house ?    On  the  North  Shore ? " 

"No — on  Commonwealth  Avenue." 

"Your  new  house?" 

"It  isn't  so  very  new;  I've  been  there  ten  years,  and— 
er — it  has  increased  considerably  in  value.  In  a  short 
time  now  I  shan't  require  so  large  a  house."  Mr.  Chip 
pendale,  metaphorically  speaking,  was  whistling  to  keep 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  165 

up  his  courage.    He  evidently  hoped  that  the  reason  he 
alleged  would  prove  convincing. 

But  General  Langdon  showed  his  incredulity  by  a  snort. 
While  putting  these  questions  he  had  looked  searchingly  at 
his  friend.  Intimate  as  they  were,  he  now  recognized  that 
they  were  on  delicate  ground  and  that  what  had  been 
uttered  so  casually  was  the  confession  of  a  proud  and  sen 
sitive  nature  in  the  clutch  of  circumstances.  But,  being 
an  impulsive  man,  he  followed  his  ordinary  method  of 
investigation. 

"What  put  that  damn-fool  notion  into  your  head?"  In 
the  next  breath  he  inquired  solicitously,  "What's  the  mat 
ter,  Harrison?  Have  you  lost  money  which  I  don't  know 
about?" 

Mr.  Chippendale  stood  buttoning  his  glove  with  one 
hand  and  holding  his  tall  hat  in  the  other.  He  was  one  of 
the  few  frequenters  of  the  office  who,  when  he  sat  down  to 
talk  with  a  member  of  the  firm,  did  not  regard  the  re 
moval  of  his  hat  as  a  superfluous  courtesy.  He  would 
have  preferred  to  leave  without  explaining,  for  the  con 
fession  had  slipped  out  almost  against  his  will. 

"Not  directly,"  he  answered.  "The  things  I  inherited 
have  shrunk  in  value  somewhat."  He  hesitated  a  moment. 
"  No,  the  trouble  is  it  costs  so  much  to  live.  I  am  spending 
more  than  my  income,  and — and  the  deficit  isn't  tempo 
rary;  it  gets  larger  every  time  I  draw  a  trial  balance.  My 
expenses  are  eating  me  up.  That  in  a  Boston  man  is  the 
next  thing  to  dishonesty,  you  know." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  it  isn't  worse,  my  dear  fellow,"  Gen 
eral  Langdon  could  not  resist  remarking.  He  was  glad  that 
the  dialogue  had  taken  a  semi-humorous  turn,  which  re 
lieved  the  awkwardness  of  the  situation.  But  he  realized 
that  the  witticism  was  virtually  true.  His  sympathies  had 


166  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

been  deeply  stirred  by  what  he  had  just  heard.  How  did 
people  manage  to  live  nowadays  on  what  used  to  be  a 
comfortable  income,  unless  they  had  proper  facilities  for 
increasing  it?  He  was  exceedingly  sorry  for  his  friend. 
But  what  was  there  to  do?  He  would  gladly  loan  him  a 
round  sum;  but  such  an  offer,  if  not  an  impertinence, 
would  certainly  be  refused.  He  knew  the  temper  of 
Mr.  Chippendale's  spirit.  The  latter  must  be  aware 
how  his  affairs  really  stood  and,  if  it  were  true  that 
he  was  falling  appreciably  behind  year  after  year— as 
seemed  extremely  probable  now  that  it  had  been  men 
tioned—what  better  could  he  do  than  realize  on  his  house, 
which  could  be  sold  at  a  profit,  mortifying  as  this  might 
be?  General  Langdon  reflected  that  if  it  had  been  his 
own  case,  he  might  have  preferred  a  large  mortgage  and 
to  trust  to  luck  for  the  future.  But  on  the  other  hand,  as 
had  just  appeared,  Mr.  Chippendale  never  did  trust  to 
luck.  For  such  a  man  as  this  what  could  the  future  do  ? 

As  these  considerations  filtered  through  his  mind,  Gen 
eral  Langdon  put  out  his  hand,  for  Mr.  Chippendale  had 
buttoned  his  overcoat  and  under  cover  of  the  smile  which 
his  last  remark  had  brought  to  his  lips,  was  turning  to  go. 
General  Langdon  knew  that  anything  which  savored  of 
emotion  would  be  distasteful  to  his  visitor.  But  he  was 
determined  at  least  to  express  his  sympathy  by  a  strong 
hand-clasp.  Yet  all  he  said  was: 

"  You  know  best,  of  course.  I'm  concerned  to  hear  it- 
much  concerned." 

ult's  precautionary  in  a  sense— but— er— under  all  the 
circumstances  unavoidable." 

"I'll  bear  your  house  in  mind.  If  I  hear  of  any  person 
who  is  looking  for  one,  I'll  recommend  it.  Real  estate  is 
rather  a  drug  on  the  market  just  at  the  moment,  but  the 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  167 

right  man  may  come  along."  The  banker  appeared  to  be 
running  over  in  his  head  the  possible  purchasers. 

Mr.  Chippendale,  as  he  walked  away,  felt  a  sense  of  re 
lief  that  BlaisdelPs  name  had  not  been  suggested.  He  had 
half  expected  that  it  would  pop  out  of  General  Langdon's 
mouth  the  moment  after  he  had  admitted  that  his  house 
was  in  the  market.  Though  the  possibility  of  selling  it  to 
him  loomed  up  as  a  dire  necessity,  he  hoped  that  it  might 
be  any  one  else.  He  was  not  sorry  that  he  had  spoken,  but 
he  felt  the  pangs  of  mortification.  He  knew  that  the  item 
would  be  whispered  from  one  to  another  until  by  the  end 
of  forty-eight  hours  it  would  become  the  talk  of  the  Back 
Bay,  and  all  his  acquaintance  would  be  exclaiming,  "Have 
you  heard  the  news?  Harrison  Chippendale's  Common 
wealth  Avenue  house  is  for  sale." 

As  he  passed  through  the  office,  he  encountered  his 
brother  Baxter,  who  looked  up  from  the  figures  he  was 
studying  in  order  to  remark: 

"Didn't  I  advise  you  not  to  sell  your  Warrior  Mills?" 

As  has  been  intimated,  Baxter  Chippendale  favored  his 
mother's  family  in  appearance.  He  was  rather  chunky, 
with  reddish  side-whiskers.  His  blue  eyes  were  small  and 
imperturbable,  his  heavy  face  decidedly  impassive;  but  he 
never  hesitated  to  speak  his  mind,  especially  to  his  rela 
tions,  and  his  speech,  like  his  sister  Georgiana's,  was  liable 
to  be  tart.  He  and  Harrison  were  on  familiar  terms,  but, 
as  they  had  never  agreed  on  any  subject  since  reaching 
manhood,  it  could  not  be  said  that  they  were  sympathetic. 
Baxter  was  a  confirmed  old  bachelor,  set  both  in  his  ideas 
and  in  his  habits.  Though  he  did  not  serve  in  the  Civil 
War,  its  memories  rendered  him  what  Harrison  termed 
a  hidebound  partisan,  and  he  was  utterly  intolerant  of 
his  brother's  Mugwump  propensities.  They  belonged  to 


168  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

different  clubs,  and  also  to  different  churches,  for  Harri 
son's  wife  and  daughters  had  persuaded  him  to  follow 
fashion  and  attend  Trinity,  although  the  Chippendales  as 
well  as  the  Floyds  and  Baxters  had  been  Unitarians  for 
two  generations.  Baxter  still  lived  under  the  shadow  of 
the  State  House,  still  occupied  the  high,  box-like  family 
pew  at  King's  Chapel,  still  made  liberal  contributions  to 
the  Republican  campaign  fund,  and  still  added  a  certain 
portion  of  his  income  to  his  principal  as  he  had  done  for 
the  past  thirty  years.  In  his  eyes,  Harrison's  propensity  to 
live  beyond  his  means  was  merely  the  logical  result  of  such 
radical  steps  as  moving  to  the  Back  Bay,  frequenting  the 
Episcopal  Church  and  coquetting  with  the  former  advo 
cates  of  negro  slavery.  These  were  all  moral  lapses  in  his 
estimation,  and  as  such  to  be  frowned  at  by  those  who 
wished  to  foster  conservative  traditions.  He  was  a  direc 
tor  of  several  banks,  institutions  for  savings  and  estab 
lished  railroads,  a  trustee  of  Mt.  Auburn  Cemetery  and  of 
the  State  Hospital,  and  had  at  one  time  been  a  member  of 
the  Governor's  military  staff.  In  early  middle  life,  he  had 
owned  a  fast  horse  or  two,  which,  in  sleighing  time,  he  had 
pitted  against  other  trotters  on  the  Brighton  road,  and  he 
had  been  active  in  the  local  militia;  but  now  he  led  a  re 
tired  existence,  the  boundaries  of  which  were  State  Street, 
his  box  in  the  Safety  Deposit  vaults,  his  club  and  his  pew 
at  King's  Chapel. 

"You  did,  Baxter.  It  was  a  mistake  from  the  point  of 
view  of  what  we  know  now.  But  as  a  family  man,  I  didn't 
dare  to  take  the  risk."  Mr.  Chippendale,  though  crest 
fallen,  was  no  craven.  He  was  willing  to  admit  the  superi 
ority  of  his  brother's  judgment  in  this  particular  case,  but 
not  to  eat  humble-pie. 

"Never  sell  anything;  it's  always  a  mistake." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  169 

After  this  sweeping  assertion,  Baxter  abruptly  resumed 
the  perusal  of  the  figures  he  was  examining,  and  Harrison 
proceeded  on  his  way.  The  speech  was  one  of  his  brother's 
favorite  maxims.  He  had  heard  him  utter  words  to  the 
same  effect  many  times  before.  But  somehow  this  morn 
ing  the  trenchant  remark  seemed  a  little  like  the  blow  of 
a  club,  following  as  it  did  so  closely  on  Chauncey's  after- 
breakfast  aphorism  as  to  the  fate  of  the  man  who  was  not 
a  "bull"  on  this  country.  As  he  walked  up  State  Street, 
Mr.  Chippendale  found  himself  suddenly  repeating  with 
a  chastened  spirit  the  lines  "Unto  him  who  hath  shall  be 
given  and  he  shall  have  abundance;  but  from  him  who 
hath  not  shall  be  taken  away  even  that  which  he  hath." 
The  next  moment  he  almost  ran  into  Henry  Sumner's 
arms,  or  rather,  his  nephew,  who  was  hurrying  along  in  the 
opposite  direction,  just  missed  running  into  him.  Henry, 
as  he  recognized  his  uncle,  beamed  with  satisfaction,  but 
instantly  cried  with  a  gasp  of  excitement — 

"Uncle  Harrison,  have  you  heard  the  news?  They  pro 
pose  to  take  a  slice  off  the  Common." 

In  the  scarcely  appreciable  interval  before  Henry's  ap 
palling  statement  drove  every  other  consideration  from 
his  head,  Mr.  Chippendale  was  conscious  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  of  something  very  like  fellow-feeling  for  his 
nephew.  His  philosophic  mind  caused  him  to  ask  himself 
if  they  were  not  both  more  or  less  the  victims  of  an  age 
which  was  indifferent  to  ideals.  In  the  next  instant,  how 
ever,  he  inquired: 

"Who  do?" 

"  The  people  who  demand  a  subway  for  the  electric  cars. 
I've  seen  the  plan.  It  appropriates  the  sidewalks  along  the 
Common,  on  Tremont  and  Boylston  Streets,  on  the  pre 
tence  of  widening  the  street." 


170  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"But  it  would  kill  the  trees — those  superb  trees." 

"  Certainly;  and  it  would  desecrate  the  old  cemetery 
where  people's  ancestors  are  buried.  The  subway  will 
plough  right  through  the  time-honored  tombs." 

"This  must  be  stopped!" 

"That's  why  I  was  on  the  way  to  your  office,  Uncle 
Harrison." 

"It's  an  entering  wedge  in  a  scheme  to  parcel  out  the 
Common.  We  must  not  yield  one  square  inch  of  the 
Common."  Mr.  Chippendale  brought  down  the  ferrule 
of  his  cane  so  firmly  that  the  threshold  rang.  "They  de 
molished  one  historic  landmark — the  Hancock  house — on 
the  plea  of  progress,  and  the  community  has  been  sorry 
ever  since.  We  must  get  up  a  petition,  Henry.  Every  one 
will  wish  to  sign  it." 

"I've  started  one  already.  I've  got  several  names,  and 
I  want  you  to  head  it."  Henry  produced  a  paper  from  his 
pocket  which  he  held  out  to  his  uncle. 

"I'll  go  back  to  the  office  with  you." 

"There's  no  need  of  that;  it  will  only  waste  time.  I'm 
devoting  the  day  to  getting  names.  Step  in  and  sign  it 
here,"  he  said,  indicating  the  office  building  in  front  of 
which  they  were  standing.  As  he  spoke,  he  whipped  out 
a  fountain-pen  from  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

Mr.  Chippendale  looked  suspiciously  at  the  contrivance. 
"Do  you  use  one  of  those  things?"  he  inquired.  Never 
theless  he  consented  to  step  into  the  corridor  and  to  com 
promise  his  dignity  so  far  as  to  write  his  name,  while  his 
nephew  held  the  paper  against  the  marble  wall.  He  ex 
pected  every  moment  that  the  pen  would  leak,  but  it  did 
not,  so  he  contented  himself  with  remarking: 

"That's  not  one  of  my  best  signatures." 

"But  it  will  help  a  lot,"  exclaimed  Henry  eagerly,  as  he 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  171 

folded  up  the  document  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 
"Progress,"  he  continued,  as  they  walked  to  the  door,  "it's 
the  same  plea  this  time — the  progress  of  the  city.  That's 
what  Miss  Avery  asked  me  to  consider.  As  if  sentiment 
and  ancient  landmarks  had  no  claims  against  the  march  of 
material  progress — the  spread  of  encroaching  bricks  and 
mortar."  His  words  had  the  effect  of  a  pent-up  outburst, 
and  were,  indeed,  the  overflow  of  a  volcanic  soul  racked 
by  the  throes  of  contradiction. 

"Miss  Avery?"  inquired  his  uncle,  who,  not  unnat 
urally,  was  puzzled.  "Your  Aunt  Georgiana  will  help  us, 
of  course.  She  was  a  tower  of  strength  when  we  saved  the 
Old  South  Meeting-house.  Let  me  see,  that  must  have 
been  nearly  fifteen  years  ago." 

"I  called  there,  on  my  way,  but  she  wasn't  at  home. 
I  saw  Miss  Avery,  though,  and  she  takes  the  other  side. 
It  appears  that  she  has  been  talking  with  Mr.  Blais- 
dell." 

Mr.  Chippendale  stopped  short.  "That  man  seems  to 
have  a  finger  in  every  pie,"  he  said  dejectedly. 

"He's  one  of  the  promoters  of  the  subway,  Uncle  Har 
rison.  Naturally  she  sides  with  him,  for  he  is  her  brother- 
in-law,  and  he  has  the  gift,  if  he  chooses,  of  making  black 
appear  white.  But  Miss  Avery  takes  pride  in  thinking  for 
herself.  If  it's  true  that  all  they  really  intend  is  to  widen 
the  street  to  the  extent  of  the  sidewalk,  without  encroach 
ing  on  the  surface  of  the  Common,  and  that  the  tombs  will 
be  protected " 

"Sacrilege,"  interjected  his  uncle.  "And  the  trees— 
the  trees.  A  tunnel  underground  will  inevitably  kill  those 
beautiful  elms;  it  will  mutilate  their  roots." 

"That's  enough  in  itself  to  make  one's  blood  boil,"  I 
agree.  "I'm  merely  trying  to  be  reasonable — endeavor- 


172  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ing  to  see  the  other  side  of  the  question.  You  remember, 
Uncle  Harrison,  it  was  you  who  warned  me  once  against 
being  impractical — tilting  at  trifles  instead  of  saving  my 
energies  for  the  big  things  of  life." 

Mr.  Chippendale  stared  at  his  nephew  in  amazement. 
"This  is  one  of  the  big  things  of  life;  it's  a  matter  of— er 
— principle." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Uncle  Harrison,  for  that's 
what  it  seems  to  me.  And  yet — "  He  paused,  then  said 
laughingly,  "I'm  well  aware  that  the  family  thinks  I'm 
visionary — almost  a  crank.  Chauncey  once  told  me  as 
much.  Well,  I  suppose  I  do  get  worked  up  over  things, 
and  probably  always  shall— you  see  I'm  not  apologizing 
exactly  for  my  shortcomings,  but  in  this  age  of  the  world, 
a  man  can't  afford  to  be  a  mere  obstructionist  unless  he's 
sure  he  is  right.  And  I  suppose  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
being  too  sure  you're  sure." 

Henry  regarded  his  uncle  wistfully.  He  still  wore  his 
round  felt  hat,  and  his  face  had  not  lost  its  hungry  look; 
but  its  expression  was  less  delicate  and  his  eyes,  though 
luminous  with  his  interest  in  the  crusade  which  he  was  con 
ducting,  evidently  invited  a  word  of  caution  from  what 
was  to  them  a  highly  conservative  tribunal.  But  the  ap 
peal  was  made  in  relation  to  the  wrong  subject;  and, 
whereas  Mr.  Chippendale  would,  on  a  less  absorbing  occa 
sion,  have  noticed  with  satisfaction  this  new  note  in  his 
nephew's  development,  he  feared  for  a  moment  that 
Henry  was  showing  a  lack  of  moral  courage  on  the  one,  of 
all  others,  when  a  Chippendale  ought  to  stand  firm.  Like 
the  discerning  man  he  was,  he  put  two  and  two  together 
and  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  his  nephew  was  again 
in  the  toils  of  his  sister's  companion.  Not  for  a  minute 
that  he  blamed  Miss  Avery;  it  was  simply  Henry's  obsti- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  173 

nate  infatuation.    But  the  opportunity  was  not  ripe  to  put 
this  into  words.    Instead  he  said : 

"When  the  issue  is  one  which  concerns  the  landmarks  of 
the  city,  the  men  and  women  of  our  blood  are  not  accus 
tomed  to  hesitate  or  listen  to  specious  argument.  Your 
father  would  have  been  the  first- 
Mr.  Chippendale  knew  that  this  shibboleth  would  serve 
as  a  veritable  trumpet-call.  Before  he  could  finish,  his 
nephew  was  shaking  his  hand  and  saying,  so  emotionally 
that  he  felt  embarrassed,  for  he  abhorred  scenes  anywhere, 
and  most  of  all  in  the  street: 

"He  would  have  been  the  first;  he  would  have  been  the 
first.  I  agree  with  you,  I  agree  with  you,  Uncle  Harrison. 
I  simply  wished  to  be  absolutely  sure  that  I  was  not  car 
ried  away  by  my  feelings.  After  I  get  a  few  more  names 
I'm  going  straight  to  the  Sphinx  Club  to  stir  up  Morgan 
Drake  and  the  other  fellows.  We'll  educate  public  senti 
ment." 

Henry's  face  was  aglow,  and,  in  spite  of  his  own  embar 
rassment,  Mr.  Chippendale's  heart  warmed  toward  him. 
He  might  be  in  love,  but  was  he  not  a  true  Chippendale 
when  it  came  to  the  scratch  ?  As  he  thus  reflected,  he  sud 
denly  saw  a  queer  change  come  over  his  nephew's  expres 
sion  as  the  result  of  bowing  to  some  one  who  was  passing. 
In  another  moment  he  heard  him  whisper : 

"  Talk  of  the  devil !    Did  you  notice  who  that  was  ?  " 
Mr.  Chippendale  gazed  at  the  back  of  the  receding  fig 
ure,  which  was  that  of  a  man  of  sturdy  build  and  energetic 
tread,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Hugh  McD.  Blaisdell — the  villain  in  our  piece — the 
man  we  were  just  speaking  of." 

Mr.  Chippendale  instinctively  stiffened;  nevertheless, 
he  strained  his  eyes. 


174  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"I  do  not  know  him  by  sight,"  he  said  indifferently, 
though  secretly  he  regretted  that  the  opportunity  to  satisfy 
his  curiosity  was  lost. 

"  People  say  he's  the  most  enterprising  man  of  his  years 
in  Boston." 

"So  I  have  been  given  to  understand."  Mr.  Chippen 
dale  frowned.  Had  even  the  uncompromising  Henry 
fallen  a  victim  to  the  spell  ? 

"His  very  bow  is  contagious.  I  might  have  been  his 
nearest  friend.  That's  an  art  in  itself.  My  destiny  seems 
to  be  to  tread  on  people's  feet,  and  often  the  feet  of  those 
I  like  best,"  and  again  Henry  laughed  wistfully. 

Mr.  Chippendale,  though  he  realized  that  his  nephew 
was  metaphorical,  evidently  believed  him  capable  of  the 
physical  act,  for  he  immediately  altered  his  position.  But 
he  felt  that  the  moment  had  come  to  speak  plainly  and 
protest  against  the  general  infatuation. 

"  As  I  have  just  told  you,  Henry,  I  do  not  know  the  indi 
vidual  who  has  just  passed,  by  sight.  I  admit  he  is  highly 
progressive — which,  within  proper  limits,  is  a  virtue— but 
from  what  I  have  heard  and  read  of  him,  he  is  not  the  sort 
of  man  I  admire — the  sort  of  man  whose  standards  I  would 
have  you  and  Chauncey  imitate.  Some  people  might  call 
that  a  prejudice" — Mr.  Chippendale  could  always  be  his 
own  critic.  "It  may  be  I  am  old-fashioned.  But  that  is 
my  opinion."  He  augustly  blew  his  nose  with  his  silk 
pocket-handkerchief.  "Mark  my  words,  a  man  of  this 
stamp,  if  not  watched,  is  liable  in  time  to  undermine  the 
whole  social  structure  of  Boston." 

There  was  a  sympathetic  gleam  in  Henry's  eyes  as  he 
listened  to  this  anathema.  "Then  we  will  watch  him; 
watch  him  and  fight  him,  if  necessary,  just  as  we  are  going 
to  fight  him  on  this  subway  business,"  He  put  out  his 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  175 

hand  again.  "I  agree  with  you  entirely,  Uncle  Harrison. 
That's  exactly  the  idea  I  have  of  him— and  I  scarcely  know 
him.  We  seem  to  agree  on  everything  to-day,  don't  we  ?" 
Having  indulged  in  this  exuberant  outburst,  Henry 
darted  away,  leaving  Mr.  Chippendale,  though  gratified 
at  the  moral  support  accorded  him,  to  reflect  that  his 
nephew  was  certainly  a  queer  stick  and  a  greater  enigma 
than  ever.  He  was  especially  perplexed  by  his  concluding 
remark,  which  seemed  to  him  Delphic,  and  to  suggest  that 
there  had  been  previous  differences  of  opinion  between 
them.  Having  mulled  over  this  for  a  few  moments,  he 
sighed  and,  like  the  knowing  man  he  was,  decided  that  it 
was  only  the  random  utterance  of  a  nervous  youth  persist 
ing  in  a  foolish  attachment  and  not  a  sign  of  sly,  diabolic 
disrespect. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BLAISDELL,  at  the  time  he  passed  Mr.  Chippendale  and 
Henry  Sumner  on  State  Street,  was  on  his  way  to  General 
Langdon's  office  in  order  to  confabulate  further  in  regard 
to  Electric  Coke.  On  the  afternoon  of  Christmas  Eve— 
which  was  about  three  months  subsequent  to  this— he 
closed  his  desk  and  started  for  his  suburban  home  a  little 
earlier  than  usual.  He  was  making  lordly  gifts  to  the 
members  of  his  family  circle  this  year,  to  which  he  had 
already  attended;  but,  after  presenting  each  of  his  clerks 
with  double  the  sum  which  they  had  ever  received  from 
him  at  this  season,  he  now  gratified  his  bounding  impulse 
toward  generosity  by  various  spasmodic  acts  of  bounty  on 
his  way  to  the  station.  He  pressed  a  five-dollar  gold-piece 
into  the  palm  of  a  bewildered  apple-woman  at  the  corner, 


176  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

and  gave  three  times  that  amount  to  a  pedler  who  had 
lost  one  leg  and  was  offering  shoe-laces  for  sale.     He 
bought  from  several  newsboys  their  entire  stock  of  news 
papers  and  dismissed  them  radiant,  bidding  them  keep 
their  wares,  instead  of  thrusting  them  down  the  nearest 
sewer  as  a  more  subtle  public  benefactor  might  have  done. 
But  Blaisdell  had  no  inclination  toward  subtlety.     So 
far  as  he  recognized  the  meaning  of  the  quality,  he  looked 
askance  at  it.     Did  not  indulgence  therein  detract  from 
heartiness  ?    But  no  such  sophistries  disturbed  his  present 
mood.    On  the  contrary,  he  was  solely  bent  on  action  as 
an  outlet  to  the  beneficent  feelings  occasioned  by  the  fact 
that  to-morrow  was   Christmas,    and    the    subconscious 
knowledge  that  he  was  in  excellent  health  and  had  had  a 
wonderfully  prosperous  year.     He  was  pleasantly  aware 
that  though  he  was  not  so  sprucely  dressed  as  many  an 
other,  he  could  even  now  buy  out  almost    iny  one  of 
those  he  met  as  he  had  just  bought  out  the  newsboys;  and 
as  for  the  future,  it  disclosed  golden  visions.    He  was  in  a 
minor  sense  a  capitalist  in  disguise,  and  he  enjoyed  the 
ecstasy  of  the  secret  knowledge.    People  knew,  of  course, 
that  he  had  done  well — that  his  eggs  had  hatched — but 
they  were  in  the  dark  as  to  the  size  of  even  the  bird  in 
hand,  his  immediate  prosperity,  and  he  would  choose  his 
own  methods  of  enlightening  them.     The  agreeable  re 
flection  caused  him,  metaphorically  speaking,  to  hug  him 
self,  and  when  he  reached  the  railroad  station  he  promptly 
purchased  every  Christmas  picture-paper  in   sight   and 
bade  the  attendant  at  the  counter  keep  the  change.    As  he 
walked  down  the  platform  with  a  big  roll  of  magazines 
sticking  out  of  either  pocket  of  his  fur-trimmed  overcoat, 
and  carrying  several  parcels,  he  was  not  altogether  sur 
prised  when  some  one  at  his  elbow  accosted  him  with — 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  177 

11  Hullo !  Santa  Claus."  At  least,  it  struck  him  as  a  not  in 
appropriate  comparison,  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  felt  de 
cidedly  like  his  conception  of  that  genial  patron-saint,  in 
that  he  was  aglow  with  good  will  toward  all  the  world  and 
was  able  to  manifest  it  practically.  Turning  to  ascertain 
who  the  discerning  friend  might  be,  he  discovered  that  it 
was  Morgan  Drake. 

" Hullo,  Drake.  Merry  Christmas!  Come  out  and 
take  dinner  with  us." 

"I'm  dining  with  some  fellows  at  the  Sphinx  Club.  It's 
fortunate,  for  otherwise  I  should  have  accepted  your  invi 
tation,  and  your  wife  wouldn't  want  me.  She  will  be  busy 
with  the  children's  stockings.  It  takes  a  bachelor  to  point 
out  that." 

Blaisdell  realized  that  Morgan  was  correct  in  his  deduc 
tion  that  his  room  would  be  better  than  his  company  on  this 
particular  evening,  but  the  remark  struck  him  as  exactly 
in  keeping  with  the  writer's  habitual  point  of  view,  which 
he  considered  to  be  on  the  verge  of  saturnine.  Were  not 
the  quips  which  were  so  invariably  on  the  tip  of  his  pen  as 
well  as  his  tongue  the  reason  why  his  books  did  not  sell 
better? 

"Nonsense,  we'd  dress  you  up  and  pretend  you  were 
Santy  and  the  children  would  be  delighted.  We're  going 
to  have  a  Christmas  tree,  and  the  Averys  will  be  there. 
By  the  way,  old  chap,  we're  sending  out  as  Christmas 
cards  several  copies  of  your  new  volume  of  essays.  Lora 
was  tickled  to  death  at  receiving  an  autograph  copy  from 
the  author."  Although  he  had  not  finished,  Blaisdell,  to 
whom  his  companion  did  not  look  very  prosperous,  paused 
to  regret  that  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  to  buy  out  se 
cretly  two  or  three  editions  of  the  volume  in  question.  He 
promised  himself  to  do  something  of  the  sort  another  year. 


178  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Then  he  felt  impelled  to  complete  his  line  of  thought  by 
saying,  "I  don't  know  much  about  the  literary  market,  but 
I  should  suppose  the  secret  of  success  there,  just  as  every 
where  else,  would  be  to  give  people  the  things  they  want 
at  the  time  they  want  them.  Why  don't  you  bring  out  next 
year  a  rattling  Christmas  story  with  plenty  of  action  and 
a  lot  of  sentiment?  Take  my  word  for  it,  just  the  right 
thing,  illustrated  by  a  leading  artist  and  attractively 
printed — details  like  that  count  nowadays — would  sell  like 
hot  cakes.  I'll  agree  to  take  a  thousand  copies  for  the 
firm  as  a  starter,  to  send  out  to  our  customers  with  the 
compliments  of  the  season." 

"Something  to  match  the  plum-pudding  and  the  mince- 
pies  and  the  mistletoe,  along  the  lines  of  grandmother's 
receipt.  I  can  see  that  there  might  be  a  gold-mine  in  it. 
But  I'm  afraid  it's  not  in  me,  Blaisdell,"  said  Morgan  with 
a  laugh. 

"Confound  the  fellow;  there  goes  his  tongue  in  his 
cheek  again!"  reflected  Blaisdell.  He  had  reached  the  car 
he  intended  to  take  and  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  rail. 
"It's  in  you  provided  you  don't  start  with  the  assumption 
that  this  isn't  a  pretty  good  world.  One  trouble  with 
you  literary  fellows  is  that  you  are  apt  to  forget  that  a 
man  who  comes  home  tired  at  night  from  his  day's  work 
needs  to  be  uplifted  and  encouraged,  not  let  down  and 
depressed." 

BlaisdelPs  inward  comment,  if  audibly  expressed,  would 
have  suggested  irritation,  but  his  words,  though  obviously 
intended  as  friendly  advice,  were  delivered  with  his  charac 
teristic  affability  and  persuasiveness  as  if  he  yearned  to  set 
an  erring  brother  straight  by  an  indisputable  summing  up 
of  the  obstacles  between  him  and  success.  It  so  happened 
that  Morgan  Drake,  who  was  on  his  way  out  of  town  to 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  179 

make  an  afternoon  call  on  the  girl  of  his  heart — a  Rad- 
cliffe  college  graduate — whom  he  desired  to  marry  and 
could  not  because  of  his  limited  income,  had  come  down 
to  the  station  chanting  to  himself  semi-lugubriously  that 
plaint  from '  Lycidas ' — "  Alas !  what  boots  it  with  incessant 
care  to  ply  the  homely,  slighted  shepherd's  trade?"  The 
moving  cause  of  this  was  an  offer  from  a  magazine  editor 
to  whom  he  had  sent  a  short  story,  to  make  him  respectable 
remuneration  for  two  or  three  others  of  a  quality  indicated 
in  the  letter.  These  would  interfere  with  his  sustained 
work — which  was  to  be  the  production  of  a  poem,  novel 
or  play  (ultimately  all  three)  of  pronounced  and  original 
merit,  whereas  the  stories  would  be  so  handicapped  by  the 
conditions  that  they  must  unavoidably  prove  "pot-boil 
ers."  What  answer  should  he  send  ?  While  pondering  this, 
he  had  caught  sight  of  Blaisdell's  figure  ahead  of  him  and 
observed  his  magnetic  air  of  prosperity.  This  dumb  show 
in  itself  was  almost  a  mandate  in  the  name  of  pure  com 
mon-sense  to  subdue  his  caustic  and  unconventional  style 
to  the  current  requirements  of  magazine  fiction.  What 
Blaisdell  said  the  moment  after  was  so  convincingly  in 
point  as  to  savor  of  pure  genius.  Morgan  could  not  resist 
pointing  this  out. 

"My  last  story  was  sent  back  with  a  text:  the  editor 
thought  I  had  talent,  but  what  they  desired  were  'love 
stories  with  a  hopeful  note.'  Now  your  advice  comes  as  a 
sort  of  Christmas  supplement  to  his." 

Blaisdell  was  never  without  suspicions  as  to  what  Mor 
gan  Drake  was  secretly  thinking.  But  whatever  sinister 
thought  might  be  behind  the  frank  admission  of  this  coin 
cidence,  the  statement  in  itself  was  a  testimonial  to  his  own 
sagacity  which  sent  the  Christmas  spirit  coursing  again 
through  his  veins.  Was  not  advice  often  the  best  present 


180  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

one  could  give  a  friend  at  merry  Yule-tide?  He  eagerly 
put  this  philosophy  into  words. 

"I  hit  the  nail  on  the  head*  that  time,  didn't  I?  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  this  Santa  Claus" — and,  now  being 
comfortably  seated,  he  tapped  his  fur-lined  bosom — "had 
given  you  the  most  valuable  present  you'll  find  in  your 
stocking,  whatever  the  real  old  boy  may  bring  you."  Blais- 
dell's  small  eyes  gleamed  with  humor,  animated  by  the  belief 
that  this  was  the  best  of  his  Christmas  Eve  benefactions. 

Indeed,  so  overpowering  was  this  mood  that  Morgan 
Drake,  unaccustomed  as  he  was  to  refrain  from  paradox 
even  when  convinced,  realized,  as  he  left  the  train  a  few 
minutes  later,  not  only  that  he  had  suffered  this  compla 
cent  assertion  to  go  unchallenged,  but  that  he  was  so  far 
hypnotized  that  he  had  neglected  to  inquire  whether  the 
reports  which  he  had  recently  heard  concerning  Mr.  Av- 
ery's  invention  were  true.  He  was  still  a  lodger  in  the 
house  on  Dartmouth  Street  and  he  had  been  jubilantly  in 
formed  by  his  landlady  that  the  long-talked-of  discovery 
was  on  the  eve  of  becoming  a  commercial  success  under  the 
name  of  Electric  Coke.  Morgan  hoped  that  this  might  be 
true,  but  remembering  the  broker's  previous  scepticism 
concerning  the  invention,  he  would  have  liked  to  know  his 
opinion. 

It  passed  through  Blaisdell's  mind  in  the  course  of  his 
beneficent  glow  to  suggest  to  his  companion  to  buy  a  few 
shares  of  Electric  Coke,  but  he  abstained  because  of  the 
following  reasoning.  Morgan's  available  cash,  if  any, 
would  pay  only  for  a  few  shares — a  mere  bagatelle  of  profit 
in  case  they  went  up;  and  to  explain  to  an  impractical  lit 
erary  chap  the  process  of  being  "carried"  on  a  proper 
margin  would  be  just  like  elucidating  it  to  a  woman,  with 
out  the  compensating  advantages.  The  writer  would  in- 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  181 

evitably  fail  to  understand  and  have  spasms  of  misgiving 
as  to  the  consequences,  if  not  irresolute  scruples.  No,  the 
most  satisfactory  way  to  assist  him  would  be  to  buy  an 
edition  or  two  of  his  next  book  at  one  fell  swoop  and  let 
him  imagine  the  public  were  the  purchasers. 

During  the  six  years  he  had  been  down-town,  yet  chiefly 
as  the  result  of  his  marriage,  Blaisdell  had  also  developed 
socially.  He  dressed  better,  and,  strong  as  he  still  was  in 
his  democracy,  people  no  longer  all  meant  the  same  to  him. 
He  had  not  only  ceased  to  take  off  his  hat  in  an  office- 
building  elevator  as  a  mark  of  elegant  deportment  when 
women  entered  it,  but  he  had  in  a  minor  degree  begun  to 
understand  and  take  an  interest  in  the  social  structure  of 
the  community  in  which  he  had  become  prominent.  Lora 
was  mainly  responsible  for  this,  as  will  appear.  Her  sen 
sitive  and  keen  appreciation  of  what  was  going  on  in  so 
ciety  had  roused  in  him  a  new  ambition,  which,  if  still  some 
what  languid,  was  constantly  stimulated  by  her  happi 
ness  when  he  gratified  it  for  her  sake.  If  he  showed  him 
self  less  apt  at  digesting  the  information  which  his  trig  little 
wife  poured  into  his  ears  than  in  other  things,  it  was  merely 
because  their  social  progress  under  her  leadership  had 
been  thus  far  so  smooth.  He  had  been  content  to  antici 
pate  her  desires  by  a  constant  series  of  golden  surprises, 
and  to  trust  to  her  clever  guidance.  Yet,  while  he  still  pro 
fessed  to  be  amused  by  her  chart-like  knowledge  of  the 
various  urban  and  suburban  social  sets,  he  had  fallen  more 
and  more  under  the  spell  of  an  intention  that  his  wife 
should  have  everything  which  money  could  provide.  Wher 
ever  she  wished  to  live  she  should  live— "  reside "  was  his 
actual  word,  just  as  they  always  " retired"  at  night— and, 
as  a  corollary  thereto,  she  should  belong  to  whatever  set 
she  preferred. 


182  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Consequently,  as  he  was  carried  swiftly  home  in  his  gay 
new  sleigh  with  its  high,  curving  dashboard  and  its  equip 
ment  of  jingling  bells,  he  glowed  with  the  secret  knowl 
edge  that  the  most  princely  of  his  Christmas  benefactions 
was  still  in  store  for  him.  His  present  for  Lora  had  al 
ways  been  some  article  of  jewelry,  that  of  each  year  being 
more  splendid  than  the  last,  so  that  she  had  clapped  her 
hands  with  fresh  and  increasing  delight.  In  order  to  pre 
serve  the  tradition,  he  had  now  in  his  pocket  a  handsome 
bracelet,  which  would  also  serve  to  make  the  surprise 
which  he  was  about  to  spring  upon  her  more  complete. 

Blaisdell  had  taken  his  mother-in-law  into  his  confi 
dence.  It  was  she  who,  having  listened  for  the  sleigh-bells, 
met  him  at  the  door.  He  conveyed  to  her  by  a  trium 
phant  nod  that  a  threatened  hitch  in  the  programme  had 
been  removed.  Mrs.  Avery  reached  out  her  hand  for  the 
package  which  he  produced  from  his  inner  pocket,  and 
indicated  by  dumb  show  that  she  wished  to  decorate  it 
with  red  ribbon.  Thereupon  she  stole  away,  while  the 
beaming  husband  and  father,  who  divined  that  his  wife 
had  been  decoyed  up-stairs  so  that  the  coast  might  be  clear 
for  the  conspirators,  announced  his  presence  in  the  house 
by  calling  her  name  with  resounding  cheeriness. 

Lora  came  running  down-stairs  at  the  sound  of  his  voice 
and  was  at  his  heels  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  lifting  his  four- 
year-old  daughter  from  the  rug  in  the  sitting-room. 

"Mama  thought  she  heard  baby  crying,  and  I  felt  sure 
I'd  be  back  in  time,"  she  expostulated,  reaching  up  her 
face  to  share  his  embraces. 

"Forgiven,  little  woman,  because  it's  Christmas  Eve. 
Peace  on  earth  and  good  will  toward  men — not  excluding 
women — women  'who  allow  their  toiling  husbands — 

"  Pooh !    We  don't  mind  him,  do  we,  Dorothy  darling  ? 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  183 

Especially  when  he  fails  to  notice  that  the  daughter  of  his 
house  has  a  lovely  new  dress  on — a  dress  which  would 
make  other  mothers  green  with  jealousy." 

Blaisdell  held  up  his  tiny  offspring  at  arm's  length. 
"  White,  with  frills— that's  all  I  see.  It's  lucky  she  has 
a  father  who  is  able  to  stand  these  wild  extravagances. 
'Perfectly  lovely' — there,  I've  said  it." 

"You  men  are  all  alike.  How's  Electric  Coke?  Mama 
has  been  doing  sums  in  imaginary  profits  at  short  intervals 
between  tying  up  the  presents." 

"They  are  liable  to  be  large  enough  in  the  end  to  give 
her  softening  of  the  brain,"  he  answered  good-humoredly. 
"No  change  to-day;  everybody  was  getting  ready  to  play 
Santa  Claus.  The  market  closed  a  little  soft  for  most 
things,  but  Coke  was  firm  at  81  bid,  82  asked.  It's  resting 
until  after  the  New  Year.  A  rise  of  twenty  dollars  in  thirty 
days  has  taken  away  its  breath  for  the  time  being.  By 
next  Christmas  I  expect  to  see  it  selling  at  160." 

Lora  hugged  the  four-year-old  Dorothy  to  her  breast  as 
if  she  were  listening  to  the  awe-inspiring  prediction  of  a 
good  fairy.  "Why,  you're  making  the  child  out  an  heir 
ess,  Hugh,"  she  lisped. 

"That  dire  fate  is  in  store  for  her,  Coke  or  no  Coke." 

"160!  Why,  wouldn't  Mr.  Avery  be  almost  a  million 
aire?" 

"Almost,  when  he  owns  outright  one  third  of  the  stock? 
I  consider  your  mother  justified  already  in  beginning  to 
spend  like  the  wife  of  a  multimillionaire." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  daughter  ?  Your  step-grandfather  is 
likely  to  be  a  multimillionaire.  And  Priscilla,  Hugh — if 
it  proves  true,  I  shall  be  gladdest  of  all  on  her  account. 
She'll  be  sure  then  to  make  a  brilliant  match.  At  present 
she  has  no  opportunity  to  meet  anybody  available." 


184  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Who  knows  but  the  effect  of  being  an  heiress  won't 
encourage  her  to  remain  single?"  Blaisdell  suggested  as 
he  warmed  his  back  at  the  fire. 

"But  Priscilla  has  always  intended  to  marry;  she's 
a  marrying  girl.  I'm  positive  of  that." 

"Think  how  restless  she  would  be  with  an  income  of 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  a  year.  The  freedom,  as 
they  call  it,  of  the  bachelor  maid  would  attract  her.  She'd 
begin  by  going  round  the  world  alone  or  with  some  other 
single  woman,  and  when  she  returned  she'd  try  to  found 
something— anything  except  a  domestic  hearth.  Haven't 
you  told  me  many  a  time  that  the  Boston  girl  expects  per 
fection  in  man  and  never  finds  it?" 

Lora  laughed.  She  had  set  Dorothy  down  among  her 
toys  on  the  rug  and  was  making  the  tea.  "I  just  wish 
Priscilla  could  hear  you.  That's  exactly  the  kind  of  Bos 
ton  girl  she  has  always  intended  not  to  be.  There  are 
such,  of  course,  who,  as  Morgan  Drake  once  said,  lack  the 
caloric  capacity  to  fall  in  love,  and  so  congeal  into  old 
maids.  But  Priscilla  despises  women  like  that." 

"Why  doesn't  she  get  married,  then  ?" 

"She  will  now.  I  don't  see  why  you  should  begrudge 
the  poor,  dear  thing  a  trip  abroad." 

"In  the  last  five  years,  I  mean." 

"What  chance  has  she  had?  Whom  does  she  ever  see 
except  Henry  Sumner?  And  she  only  sees  him  occasion 
ally.  I'm  not  certain  even  that  he  doesn't  avoid  her.  I 
did  think  once  upon  a  time,"  she  continued  pensively  as 
she  handed  her  husband  his  cup  of  tea,  "that  she  might 
sooner  or  later  learn  to  fancy  him.  But  I've  no  reason  to 
think  they  agree  any  better  than  they  ever  did."  She 
shook  her  head  mournfully.  "Now,  who  else  has  there 
been?" 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  185 

Blaisdell  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders.  "  Marrying 
girls  get  chances— all  the  plain  ones  even,  and  Priscilla  is 
better-looking  to-day  than  she  ever  was." 

"I'm  glad  you  admit  that,  Hugh."  Lora  smiled  to  her 
self  and  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  "If  I  tell  you 
something  which  I  oughtn't  to  tell  you,  will  you  promise 
to  forget  it?"  she  asked  mysteriously.  "And  never  to 
speak  of  it  to  any  one?" 

"About  Priscilla?" 

"Promise  first.  Some  women  in  my  place  would  not 
dare  to  tell  their  husbands  for  fear  of  spoiling  them.  But 
I'm  not  afraid.  Now  don't  try  to  guess,  you  clever  man. 
Promise." 

"You're  dying  to  tell  me,  anyway.    Well,  I  promise." 

Lora  looked  round  to  make  sure  that  no  one  could 
overhear.  "It's  merely  this;  I  suppose  Priscilla  would 
have  accepted  you  if  you  had  asked  her.  Now,  Hugh,  if  you 
ever  breathe  this  to  any  one  else,  I  shall  never  forgive  you." 

Blaisdell  beamed  with  amusement.  "That's  a  terrible 
secret  to  impart  to  a  modest,  domestic  husband  on  Christ 
mas  Eve." 

"I  don't  mean  she  ever  said  a  word;  and  I  dare  say  she 
never  knew.  But  then  you  never  asked  her." 

"You  dear  little  logician!  And  what  does  that  prove? 
For  I  can  see  it  proves  something." 

Lora  put  her  head  on  one  side.  "It  explains  lots  of 
things.  It  proves,  to  begin  with,  that  you're  wrong  in  think 
ing  she's  not  a  marrying  girl." 

"You  mean  that  she  is  waiting  to  marry  me?" 

Lora  made  a  pretty  face  at  him.  "If  you  talk  like  that, 
I  shall  be  sorry  I  told  you.  Why  weren't  you  more  sur 
prised?  I  expected  that  you  would  be  tremendously 
surprised." 


186  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"I've  something  to  confide,  too."  Blaisdell  stretched 
his  legs  apart  and  looked  down  at  her  indulgently  over  his 
tea-cup.  "I  can't  honestly  pretend  that  I  was  completely 
in  the  dark  that  you  were  cutting  her  out." 

"Oh,  Hugh."  Her  mild  protest  was  on  Priscilla's  be 
half,  but  she  did  not  try  to  conceal  her  happiness.  They 
both  laughed,  and  Blaisdell,  bending  forward  to  return  his 
cup  to  the  tray,  cemented  the  mutual  avowal  by  kissing  the 
lips  which  she  held  out  to  him. 

"Where  is  she,  by  the  way?"  he  inquired. 

"Miss  Chippendale  needed  her.  She  and  Mr.  Avery 
are  coming  out  just  in  time  for  dinner.  Her  father's 
success  has  been  a  positive  shock  to  her.  It  has  dazed  her; 
she  can't  be  tender  enough  to  him.  But  even  you  didn't 
believe  that  his  invention  would  ever  amount  to  any 
thing." 

"See  what  I  have  brought  for  her,"  Blaisdell  said,  tak 
ing  from  the  mantel-piece  and  undoing  one  of  two  small 
packages. 

"A  bracelet!"  Lora  clapped  her  hands.  "How  dear  of 
you!  It's  perfectly  lovely,  Hugh.  Your  bark  is  always 
worse  than  your  bite.  I've  half  a  mind,"  she  said,  as  she 
fastened  the  clasp  around  her  wrist  and  examined  the 
braided  pattern  of  lapis  lazuli  and  gold,  "to  keep  it  my 
self.  Bracelets  are  beginning  to  come  in  again." 

"Take  your  choice,  then,"  he  answered,  opening  the 
other  jeweller's  box  and  displaying  a  second  bracelet  of 
somewhat  similar  workmanship  but  in  malachite. 

Lora  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  "My  Christmas 
present?"  she  ejaculated. 

Blaisdell  did  not  contradict  her.  He  was  delighted  at 
the  success  of  his  ruse,  and  he  believed  that  he  knew  ex 
actly  what  was  passing  through  her  mind.  Was  she  not 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  187 

vainly  trying  to  conceal  her  disappointment  that  his  pres 
ent  was  less  magnificent  than  any  which  he  had  recently 
given  her? 

11  Why  didn't  you  save  it  for  the  tree?" 

"  Because  you  showed  covetous  designs  on  Priscilla's." 

"I  see.  Then  I  must  choose,"  she  answered,  and  she 
examined  the  bracelets  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 
"I'll  take  this,"  she  said  at  last — and  it  was  the  lapis  lazuli 
which  she  selected.  "I  think  it's  prettier,  on  the  whole— 
but  there's  not  much  to  choose."  Then  she  suddenly  in 
quired,  without  looking  up,  "Was  it  so  difficult  to  choose 
which  of  us  you  would  marry?" 

Blaisdell  could  scarcely  restrain  his  laughter.  The  jeal 
ousy  which  had  evoked  this  taunt  was  plainly  not  of  Pris- 
cilla  as  Priscilla,  but  of  the  fact  that  there  was  so  much 
similarity  between  the  gifts.  Yet  to  tell  her  now  would 
spoil  all;  he  would  persevere  in  his  strategy  even  at  the 
risk  of  allowing  her  to  believe  for  an  hour  or  so  that  he  had 
been  stingy.  Would  not  the  reaction  which  would  come 
when  she  was  undeceived  convince  her  forever  that  there 
was  no  husband  who  wished  to  be  more  generous  than  he  ? 
He  was  even  disposed  to  tease  her  a  little;  so  he  replied: 

"I  will  admit  that  for  the  first  few  weeks  after  I  became 
a  boarder  at  your  mother's  house  it  was  nip  and  tuck  be 
tween  you." 

Lora  looked  into  his  eyes  imploringly,  as  if  even  this  were 
more  than  she  could  bear.  Just  then  Mrs.  Avery  ap 
peared  at  the  door,  carrying  the  one-year-old  son  and  heir 
fresh  and  crowing  from  his  afternoon  nap.  This  broke  the 
slight  tension.  In  another  moment  Lora  had  realized 
again  that  she  was  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world,  and, 
by  way  of  amends  or  to  show  how  contented  she  was,  she 
sat  down  at  the  piano  while  the  others  guarded  the  chil- 


188  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

dren.  She  was  apt  to  play  or  sing  for  Hugh  at  that  hour: 
he  said  it  rested  him,  and  the  children  seemed  diverted  by 
the  music. 

The  happiest  woman  in  the  world — one  of  them  cer 
tainly.  Poor  Priscilla!  Hugh  was  correct;  it  was  high 
time  for  her  to  marry  some  one — time  for  the  right  person 
to  turn  up. 

"Then  be  not  coy  and  hard  to  please 
But  while  ye  may  go  marry, 
For  having  lost  but  once  your  prime 
You  may  forever  tarry." 

She  was  singing  it  laughingly  by  way  of  making  up  to 
Hugh  for  letting  him  see  that  she  was  miffed.  Boston  girls 
were  prone  to  be  hard  to  please.  But  what  chance  had  Pris 
cilla  really  had?  However,  even  now  she  didn't  under 
stand  why  he  had  given  them  presents  so  much  alike.  The 
year  before  last  hers  had  been  a  superb  set  of  furs,  and 
last  Christmas  a  pearl  necklace.  At  this  point  she  bit  her 
tongue  and  said  that  she  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself. 
If  she  were  not  careful,  that  which  befell  the  woman  in  the 
old  fairy  tale,  who  imposed  once  too  often  on  the  bounty  of 
the  generous  flounder,  would  happen  to  her.  Some  day 
Hugh  would  be  justified  in  saying,  with  a  stormy  face, 
"That's  the  last  straw.  Go  back  to  your  pig-sty  again." 
Lora  laughed  to  herself  at  the  analogy.  Justified — but  he 
never  would.  He  loved  her  too  much  for  that,  even  if  he 
had  economized  on  her  Christmas  present.  Perhaps  he 
was  too  busy;  though  this  was  not  really  an  excuse.  And 
after  all,  in  the  fairy  tale  there  had  been  both  a  husband 
and  a  fish,  and  in  her  case  the  fish  was  her  husband. 

What  did  the  greedy  woman  ask  the  fish  which  angered 
it  so  ?  Lora  paused  in  her  singing  just  long  enough  to  re 
member  that  it  was  to  make  her  husband  lord  of  the  sun 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  189 

and  moon  and  stars.  An  audacious  request  surely !  Com 
pared  with  that  woman,  her  own  desires  had  been  exceed 
ingly  moderate.  It  was  not  as  if  she  had  importuned  fort 
une  to  make  her  husband  President  of  the  United  States. 
The  fish  had  been  generosity  itself,  of  course,  but  they  were 
still  living  in  the  suburbs.  And  were  the  suburbs,  socially 
speaking,  so  very  superior  to  a  pig-sty  ?  At  least,  it  would 
seem  as  if  a  woman  with  superb  furs  and  a  real  pearl  neck 
lace  would  be  justified  in  requesting  the  fish  to  let  her 
move  to  town;  especially  as  Hugh  had  promised  that 
they  should  as  soon  as  he  could  afford  it.  Now  that  Elec 
tric  Coke  was  going  up  so  fast,  was  there  not  every  reason 
to  suppose  that  he  could  afford  it  ? 

Pleased  with  this  conceit,  Lora,  as  she  strummed  gaily, 
nodding  from  time  to  time  at  the  group  in  front  of  the  fire, 
surveyed  critically  her  surroundings.  It  was  a  dear  little 
house,  but  not  imposing.  She  had  remembered  to  be 
thrifty  and  yet  had  done  her  best  to  make  it  cosy,  and  she 
flattered  herself  that  she  had  succeeded.  There  were 
shiny  silk  curtains,  bright-colored  cushions  in  abundance, 
potted  plants  and  all  the  magazines;  the  florist  had  orders 
to  send  violets  twice  a  week,  and  there  was  always  a  box  of 
bonbons  on  the  table — but  her  resources  had  come  to  an 
end.  The  parlor  was  like  her  mother's  glorified,  and  there 
was  little  opportunity  for  entertaining.  They  knew  a  few 
of  the  neighbors,  but  the  people  she  wished  to  know  were 
those  in  town  whose  names  and  whose  festivities  she  read 
of  in  the  social  gossip  columns  of  the  Sunday  newspapers. 
Did  all  those  women  have  necklaces  of  pearls?  She 
doubted  it,  and  she  felt  sure  that  no  one  had  handsomer 
furs.  She  would  like  a  large  house  with  spacious  drawing- 
rooms  upholstered  in  the  latest  fashion — where,  as  soon 
as  they  were  settled,  she  would  give  a  large  ball  in  honor  of 


190  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Priscilla.  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hugh  McDowell  Blaisdell "— she 
would  have  the  cards  engraved — "request  the  pleasure  of 
your  company  on  Thursday  evening,  January  loth,  to 
meet  Miss  Priscilla  Avery."  Yes,  if  ever  they  were  going 
to  move,  the  time  seemed  opportune;  Hugh  must  certainly 
once  more  invoke  the  generosity  of  the  fish. 

"Flounder,  flounder  in  the  sea 
Prithee,  prithee  come  to  me. 
For  my  dear  wife  Lora  (not  dame  Isabel) 
Wants  strange  things  I  scarce  dare  tell." 

And  when  the  fish  popped  its  head  out  of  the  water  and 
inquired,  "What  will  she  have  now?"  answer  boldly, 
"She  would  like  a  house  on  the  sunny  side  of  Common 
wealth  Avenue  or  the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street." 
Surely — surely  the  fish  could  not  fail  to  reply,  "A  very 
reasonable  request,  and  she  shall  have  it  right  away." 

Lora  ran  her  fingers  along  the  keys  in  a  gay  final  flour 
ish  and  rose  from  the  piano.  Her  figure  was  larger  than 
five  years  before,  but  it  had  filled  out  symmetrically  and 
was  still  trim.  Even  the  ample  outline  of  her  stylish  tea- 
gown  was  not  too  trying.  She  wore  a  bunch  of  violets  at 
her  waist — the  perfume  of  violets  was  her  specialty. 

As  she  joined  the  others,  she  heard  her  mother,  who, 
with  the  baby  on  her  lap,  was  listening  spell-bound  to 
Hugh,  exclaim,  "It  sounds  like  Monte  Cristo."  She 
recognized  that  they  were  still  discussing  the  possibilities 
of  the  successful  invention. 

"Monte  Cristo?"  echoed  Blaisdell.  "How  much  do 
you  suppose  Monte  Cristo  was  worth?" 

"I  had  always  supposed  that  he  was  fabulously  rich— 
too  rich  to  count,"  answered  Mrs.  Avery. 

"I  heard  some  men  discussing  that  the  other  day — Gen- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  191 

eral  Langdon,  the  broker,  was  one  of  them — and  it  was 
proved  by  computation  that  the  wealth  of  the  really  big  fel 
lows  of  to-day,  the  half-dozen  industrial  kings — any  one  of 
them — makes  Monte  Cristo's  look  like  thirty  cents.  It's 
difficult  to  realize  the  accumulations  of  the  last  twenty  years 
in  this  country — in  steel,  in  railroads,  in  sugar,  in  oil.  A 
rich  man  of  a  generation  ago  is  practically  a  poor  man  to 
day.  And  it's  on  the  cards,  as  I  was  saying,  that  Electric 
Coke  may  prove  to  be  one  of  those  fountains  of  wealth — 
one  of  those  financial  geysers  which  produce  a  genuine 
modern  fortune.  It's  in  its  infancy  at  present,  but  every 
one  of  the  big  industries,  the  big  inventions,  the  big  mines 
which  this  country  has  produced  has  had  its  infancy.  I'm 
not  letting  my  imagination  run  riot  because  it's  Christmas 
Eve,  Mrs.  Avery.  No,  I  tell  you  I  look  to  see  your  hus 
band  the  proud  possessor  of  a  second-class  fortune  before 
the  end  of  another  five  years.  There  are  first-class  fort 
unes  and  second-class  fortunes  Just  as  there  are  first-class 
battle-ships  and  second-class  battle-ships.  Boston  has 
more  second-class  fortunes  than  any  city  in  the  country, 
but  it  hasn't  a  first-class  fortune.  Perhaps  it  never  will 
have."  He  spoke  the  last  words  reflectively,  as  if  he  were 
stating  a  philosophic  truth — a  condition  of  affairs  which 
he  deplored,  but  which  he  intended  to  do  his  best  to  alter. 

Lora  promptly  showed  that  she  fathomed  his  thought, 
for,  dandling  her  precious  daughter,  she  addressed  her 
thus:  "We  know  better,  don't  we,  Dorothy?  Some  day 
Boston  will  have  one." 

Blaisdell  caught  the  prophetic  aside  and  smiled  at  his 
wife  in  amused  appreciation  of  her  quickness.  But  Mrs. 
Avery,  who  would  at  any  other  time  have  inquired  why 
Boston  was  to  be  denied  this  privilege,  was  too  much  en 
grossed  by  the  flattering  prospect  of  possessing  second- 


192  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

class  wealth  to  pay  heed  to  anything  but  the  personal 
equation. 

"As  rich  as  Monte  Cristo?" 

"Richer  than  Monte  Cristo." 

In  spite  of  her  son-in-law's  disparagement,  this  assur 
ance  was  plainly  stupefying  to  Mrs.  Avery.  "To  think 
of  it — to  think  of  it!"  she  said.  "And  the  strangest  part 
of  it  all  is  that  Mr.  Avery  won't  care — he  doesn't  care. 
The  only  change  I  have  got  him  to  consent  to  so  far  is  to 
have  cream — thick  cream — with  his  porridge  for  break 
fast.  He  would  be  content  to  go  on  living  just  as  he  is 
for  the  rest  of  his  days.  That's  his  New  England  con 
science,  as  Priscilla  says.  But  fortunately,  for  him,  he  has 
a  wife." 

"Who  won't  permit  him  to  hide  his  light  under  a 
bushel.  That's  right,"  said  Blaisdell. 

"My  first  husband's  ambition  was  to  be  President  of  the 
United  States.  But  I'm  no*  sure — not  sure  that  I  wouldn't 
rather  be  as  rich  as — er — Monte  Cristo.  I've  always  said, 
you  know,"  she  added,  addressing  her  daughter,  "that 
Hugh  was  likely  some  day  or  other  to  become  President." 

Lora  smiled  and  nodded.  "  If  he  wouldn't  rather  be  one 
of  those  industrial  kings  he  spoke  of— and  make  a  first- 
class  fortune." 

They  both  turned  to  Blaisdell  for  a  response.  He  had 
resumed  his  position  with  his  legs  apart  at  the  mantel 
piece.  "Thanks,  ladies,  for  the  choice.  Any  free-born 
citizen  can  be  President  provided  he  gets  the  necessary 
votes.  That's  the  privilege  of  every  good  American.  But 
those  other  fellows" — he  paused  a  moment,  evidently 
fascinated  by  his  idea,  "don't  they  make  the  rest  of  us 
possible?  Take  the  poets — William  Shakespeare — the 
philosophers,  college  professors,  lawyers  and  doctors— it's 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  193 

been  the  fashion  of  the  world  to  put  them  above  the  suc 
cessful  business  man.  Don't  they  owe  their  prosperity,  if 
not  their  opportunity,  to  the  fact  that  a  few  master  minds 
over  the  world — and  particularly  to-day  in  this  country — 
are  making  this  and  that  commodity  cheaper  by  gigantic 
combinations?  Isn't  the  genius — for  it  is  genius — which 
enables  more  men  to  get  a  decent  living,  the  most  useful 
kind  of  all  ?  I  repeat,  don't  they  make  the  rest  of  us  pos 
sible?" 

The  sound  of  sleigh-bells  broke  in  upon  Blaisdell's  argu 
ment.  Mr.  Avery  and  Priscilla  had  arrived,  so  that  the 
party  which  had  gathered  for  the  children's  Christmas  tree 
was  now  complete.  Priscilla  required  a  private  inter 
view  in  the  hall  in  regard  to  certain  parcels  which  she  had 
brought  with  her;  but  the  inventor,  whose  wife  had  taken 
on  herself  all  responsibility  for  their  gifts,  was  free  to  enter 
and  offer  his  Christmas  greetings.  As  Mrs.  Avery  had 
stated,  he  showed  no  outward  signs  of  worldly  prosperity. 
But  Electric  Coke  was,  nevertheless,  on  the  tip  of  his 
tongue.  He  began  eagerly  to  explain  to  Blaisdell  the  mer 
its  of  an  improvement  almost  perfected,  which  would  sim 
plify  and  increase  the  efficiency  of  his  apparatus. 

"We  shall  be  able  to  cut  the  cost  in  two,"  he  said,  and 
his  dreamy  eyes  kindled. 

"  Good.  But  we  mustn't  lose  sight  entirely  of  the  stock 
holders  when  the  time  comes  to  cut.  The  great  public 
benefited  by  such  an  improvement  would  not  be  entitled 
to  the  whole  of  the  profit." 

Mr.  Avery  looked  a  little  disappointed.  "Wouldn't  it? 
I  dare  say  not.  I'm  not  a  business  man,  Blaisdell,  as  I've 
told  you  frequently  before."  The  personal  satisfaction  of 
success  had  already  been  forgotten  in  the  purpose  of  per 
fecting  his  discovery.  Such  were  the  habits  of  a  lifetime — 


194  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

such  were  the  ruts  formed  by  his  temperament — that  he 
was  already  seeking  new  fields  to  conquer  for  the  benefit 
of  science. 

This  attitude  struck  Blaisdell  as  lacking  in  humanity; 
it  was  too  frosty,  too  typical  of  that  Puritan  spirit  which, 
in  former  generations,  frowned  sternly  on  all  pleasures  and 
now  both  was  indifferent  to  modern  comforts  and  had  lost 
the  capacity  to  enjoy.  Yet  it  was  his  natural  impulse  to 
say  the  complimentary  thing  whatever  his  secret  thoughts, 
unless  he  might  hope,  as  in  Morgan  Drake's  case,  to  point 
the  better  way;  for  he  knew  that  Mr.  Avery  was  beyond 
his  help.  "I  don't  know  about  that.  You  were  sensible 
enough  to  hold  on  to  one-third  of  the  stock." 

"Yes,  I  did  that.  It  was  only  fair  to  the  people  who 
believed  in  me."  Then  seeing  that  Priscilla  was  standing 
at  his  side,  he  smiled  on  her  and  added:  "And  now  ap 
parently  it  will  serve  to  keep  the  wolf  from  this  young 
woman's  door  in  case  anything  should  happen  to  me." 
He  spoke  as  if,  on  the  whole,  this  was  important,  but 
chiefly  as  a  concession  to  the  modern  point  of  view  that  it 
took  more  money  to  live  than  formerly.  That  his  daugh 
ter  was  safeguarded  from  want  was  evidently  a  satisfac 
tion  to  him;  but  what  reason  was  there  to  think  that  he 
took  any  interest  in  the  knowledge  that  she  was  an  heiress  ? 

"What  an  old  fossil!"  was  BlaisdelPs  silent  judgment. 
The  malachite  bracelet  had  been  removed  to  be  done  up 
for  the  Christmas  tree.  He  looked  at  Priscilla  with  the 
eye  of  an  appraiser.  His  wife's  confidence  had  reminded 
him  afresh  that  as  a  boarder  in  his  landlady's  house  he 
had  deliberately  chosen  between  the  two.  Her  develop 
ment  was  one  of  the  things  which  interested  him  when  they 
met,  though  he  did  not  dwell  on  it  at  other  times.  As  he 
noted  the  glow  in  her  cheeks  which  the  sleigh-ride  had 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  195 

heightened,  he  did  not  refrain  from  remarking,  "There 
are  wolves— and  there  are  wolves.  Will  she  be  entirely 
secure  from  being  gobbled  up  by  one  of  the  other  variety  ?  " 

For  an  instant  Mr.  Avery  did  not  comprehend.  Then 
he  nodded.  "A  fortune-hunter?  Eh,  Priscilla?"  He 
appealed  gaily  to  his  daughter  as  if  the  pleasantry  struck 
him  as  peculiarly  happy,  and  added:  " Behold,  a  new  live 
peril,  my  dear." 

"  Oh  yes,  you're  both  right— I  shall  henceforth,  like  a 
true  Boston  girl,  suspect  that  every  one  is  trying  to  marry 
me  for  my  money.  And  I  shall  just  despise  myself  for  it." 

She  spoke  with  whimsical  despair,  but  looking  un 
flinchingly  from  one  to  the  other.  It  was  clear  to  Blaisdell 
that  she  had  reached  this  state  of  mind  through  fierce 
mental  processes.  But  gloomy  as  her  argument  was,  it 
was  equally  clear  that  the  cup  of  life  which  she  held  up  to 
the  light  contained  not  one  drop  of  real  murkiness  and 
that  her  self-commiseration  was  virtually  mock.  Was  she 
not  bubbling  over  with  vitality  and  almost  radiant  with 
content  ? 

It  suited  Blaisdell  so  well  to  observe  this  that  he  said: 
"I  can  see,  however,  that  you  intend  to  make  the  best  of 
your  appalling  hereditary  discoveries." 

The  remark  pleased  her;  it  seemed  like  most  of  his  ut 
terances,  discerning  and  to  the  point.  "Oh,  yes,"  she 
cried,  "I  have  even  weighed  spinsterhood  in  the  balance 
with  domestic  bliss  alongside  of— of  Professor  Paton,  and 
beheld  myself,  without  dismay,  an  irredeemable  old 
maid." 

"  Do  not  make  sport  of  an  honest  man's  love,  Priscilla," 
exclaimed  her  father.  Even  genius  is  liable  at  the  spur 
of  parental  solicitude  to  have  recourse  to  a  prosy  saw. 

"  On  the  contrary,  father,  I  wish  I  could  fall  in  love  with 


196  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

him;  I  do,  indeed.  Then  he  would  feel  justified  in  offer 
ing  himself  to  me,  which  he  never  has  in  all  these  years. 
He  wishes  to  be  sure  first — and  I  am  sure.  He  is  painfully 
persevering,  but  sagely  silent.  So  there  we  are— victims  of 
destiny.  And  I'm  nearly  twenty-five.  I  mentioned  him 
merely  to  illustrate  my  plight — my  infirmity.  No,  dear 
father,"  she  cried  with  sudden  gaiety,  as  though  she  were 
rejoicing  in  her  predicament  instead  of  deploring  it,  "I 
intend  to  try  and  make  up  to  you  for  having  been  a  thorn 
in  your  side  all  these  years.  I'm  prepared  to  accept  grace 
fully  the  lot  which  fate  evidently  has  in  store  for  me." 

She  threw  her  arm  round  her  father's  shoulder  as  she 
spoke,  and  touched  her  cheek  to  his.  The  greatest  surprise 
of  her  life  had  been  her  father's  vindication — the  discovery 
that  he  was  right  and  she  utterly  wrong;  and  the  first  re 
sults  of  the  chastening  which  her  spirit  had  received  from 
the  success  of  Electric  Coke  had  been  a  wave  of  tender 
ness.  She  had  been  eager  to  abase  herself;  and  yet  she  had 
soon  recovered  sufficiently  from  the  shock  of  self-reproof 
to  become  susceptible  to  the  new  dread  lest,  like  most 
inventors,  he  should  throw  away  the  legitimate  fruits  of  his 
years  of  patient  research.  He  had  been  on  her  mind  at  the 
time  of  the  formation  of  the  company,  and  she  had  been 
impelled  for  his  protection  to  confide  her  fears  guardedly 
to  Lora's  husband.  She  had  been  informed  after  the 
meeting,  to  her  intense  relief — indeed,  her  father  had  told 
her  of  his  own  accord — that  he  remained  a  large  stock 
holder.  Not  that  she  cared  for  the  money — so  she  argued 
to  herself — but  it  would  have  mortified  her  deeply  had  he 
been  allowed  to  ignore  the  practical  side  of  the  transaction. 
Her  filial  perversity  threw  the  credit  of  this  escape  chiefly 
on  Blaisdell.  She  could  not  help  believing  that  but  for 
him  her  father  might  through  indifference  or  cajolement 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  197 

have  parted  with  all  his  interest  in  the  patents  for  the  lure 
of  a  pitiful  sum  in  ready  cash  which  would  ensure  him 
modest  comfort  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  Instead,  there  was 
a  prospect  of  his  being  the  possessor  of  millions.  One- 
third  of  the  capital  stock!  She  had  not  known  the  exact 
amount  until  she  overheard  it  a  few  minutes  before;  and 
her  heart  warmed  again  toward  the  man  whom  she  con 
sidered  responsible  for  this  fortunate  condition  of  affairs. 
The  right  person  had  never  yet  presented  himself,  but  it 
was  something  to  feel  that  her  step-brother-in-law  was  win 
ning  new  laurels  every  day. 

"You  mean,"  said  Blaisdell,  "that  you  are  leaving  Miss 
Chippendale — are  coming  home  to  live?" 

It  was  Mrs.  Avery  who,  entering  the  room  with  Lora  to 
announce  that  the  candles  on  the  tree  were  all  lighted,  an 
swered  the  inquiry.  "Yes,  her  highness  has  graciously 
consented  to  accept  board  and  lodging  from  Monte  Cristo 
while  she's  deciding  what  she  will  do  next.  She  feels  at 
last  that  the  bread  and  butter  she  consumes  will  not  be  toe 
severe  a  drain  upon  our  resources." 

All  laughed  at  the  appellation  which  she  thus  fastened 
on  her  husband,  and  Priscilla  in  her  delight  could  not  for 
bear  to  exclaim:  "Monte  Cristo!  It's  perfect.  I  shall 
never  call  you  by  any  other  term  of  endearment,  father. 
Now  it's  no  use  for  you  to  assure  us  that  there  were  never 
two  people  in  the  world  more  unlike  than  you  and  he." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Blaisdell,  "the  comparison  fits 
you  like  a  glove,  Mr.  Avery— like  the  paper  on  the  wall." 
Then  turning  from  the  somewhat  startled  inventor,  he 
accosted  Priscilla  with  "But  you  haven't  told  us  what  you 
are  going  to  do  next." 

"The  tree  is  ready  and  Lora  is  waiting  with  the  chil 
dren,"  interposed  Mrs.  Avery,  with  an  air  of  bustle.  But 


198  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

she  added  authoritatively:  "She  ought  to  go  to  Europe  to 
begin  with,  and  make  a  completely  fresh  start.  By  the 
time  she  gets  back  with  lots  of  Paris  clothes,  our  new  house 
will  be  ready."  This  last  assertion  was  evidently  intended 
as  a  matrimonial  feeler,  for  she  glanced  in  her  husband's 
direction  and  then  smiled  meaningly  at  her  son-in-law. 

"It's  a  terrible  responsibility  to  have  money."  The 
words  slipped  out  so  involuntarily  that  Priscilla  hastened 
to  declare:  "There,  I've  said  it.  Who  else  but  a  Boston 
girl  would  be  capable  of  such  a  speech  just  after  she  had 
discovered  that  her  father  was  a  second  Monte  Cristo? 
You  see,  I'm  incorrigible,  struggle  as  I  will.  It's  the  hered 
itary  poison  working  in  my  blood."  She  paused  a  moment 
in  her  gay  yet  rueful  speech,  then  flashed  an  appealing 
glance  at  Blaisdell.  "I  do  wish  to  go  to  Europe  and — and 
to  buy  things,  but  though  I'm  coming  home  to  live  I'm 
not  ready  to  abandon  Miss  Georgiana  just  yet — to  drop 
all  the  matters  we  are  interested  in.  On  my  own  ac 
count,  I  mean.  I'm  just  beginning  to  believe  that  I'm 
of  a  little  use  in  the  things  which  are  actually  going 
on  right  here  in  Boston— the  practical  things.  That 
is,  I'm  anxious  they  should  be  practical.  You  ought  to 
sympathize  with  me  in  that,  Hugh,  and — and  stand  up 
for  me.  For  instance,  Miss  Georgiana,  as  you  know,  is 
still  fearfully  agitated  about  the  Common.  She  is  anxious 
to  spend  large  sums  of  money  to  save  the  Common.  I  am 
trying  to  convince  her  that  this  is  one  of  the  cases  where 
sentimental  considerations  should  not  be  allowed  to  block 
great  public  improvements,  and  that  a  few  old  tombs  and 
an  occasional  tree  are  nothing  compared  with  enabling 
busy  citizens  to  be  carried  quickly  to  and  from  their  offices 
— almost  your  very  words,  you  may  remember.  I'm  serv 
ing  just  at  present  as  a  sort  of  buffer — a  counter-irritant  to 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  199 

Henry  Sumner — and  now  that  I  have  money  and  can  act 
independently,"  she  continued,  putting  her  arm  through 
BlaisdelPs  as  they  followed  the  others,  "I'm  inspired  to 
organize — (it's  always  organize;  you  see,  I'm  becoming  in 
that  respect  as  bad  as  the  rest) — a  rival  coterie,  even  if  it 
is  another  old  maids'  movement.  We'll  call  ourselves  the 
apostles  of  common-sense,  and  you  shall  come  and  make 
us  an  address  on  the  duties  of  the  progressive  citizen.  Our 
motto  shall  be,  '  Don't  kick  against  every  new  thing.' 
I  shouldn't  be  a  true  Bostonian  if  I  didn't  try  to  start  some 
movement;  but  this  will  be  different  from  the  others,  even 
if  I  have  to  be  the  only  member.  So  that's  why  I  don't 
wish  to  go  abroad  at  present." 

"I'm  the  last  person  to  wish  you  to  go  abroad.  I  like 
too  well  to  have  you  here,"  said  Blaisdell.  "I  like  to  have 
you  to  look  at  and — and  when  you're  at  home  I  can  buy 
you  a  Christmas  present,"  he  added,  though  it  did  not 
convey  his  real  thought,  which  was  that  he  was  in  no  hurry 
to  have  her  belong  to  some  one  else.  As  she  pressed  close 
to  his  side  in  her  enthusiasm,  he  reflected  semi-humorously 
that  were  he  a  Mormon  he  would  propose  to  her  on  the 
spot  and  that  there  was  something  to  be  said  in  behalf  of 
judicious  polygamy.  Might  not  a  man  become  deeply 
attached  to  two  totally  dissimilar  women  without  absolute 
disloyalty  to  either? 

They  were  at  the  door  of  the  dining-room  and  Priscilla 
drew  apart  from  him  at  his  words,  exclaiming  eagerly: 
"I'm  just  in  the  mood  for  something  lovely;  I'm  sure 
it  is." 

For  the  next  few  minutes  both  her  and  Blaisdell' s  atten 
tion  was  absorbed  in  observing  the  effect  produced  on  the 
children  by  the  glittering  Christmas  tree.  As  soon  as  the 
glut  of  presents  which  it  held  for  the  little  ones  had  been 


200  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

bestowed,  Lora  made  a  round  of  distribution  among  the 
elders.  When  she  approached  Priscilla,  she  held  out  two 
packages  of  the  same  size. 

"Hugh  has  given  us  both  the  same  thing  this  year — this 
is  yours."  She  intended  that  her  husband  should  under 
stand  from  her  words  that  he  was  forgiven,  but  that  he 
was  not  to  take  the  same  liberty  again. 

She  passed  on  and  Blaisdell  watched  while  Priscilla  un 
did  the  parcel. 

"  Jewelry!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the 
velvet  box.  "It  behooves  the  daughter  of  Monte  Cristo 
to  wear  jewels.  A  bracelet!  I  adore  it.  Malachite,  is  it 
not  ?  And  green  for  jealousy.  Yes,  I  am  jealous.  I  envy 
you  the  ability  to  make  splendid  presents.  It  is  delightful 
to  have  money.  Will  you  fasten  it  on,  Hugh,  and  wish 
me  success  in  my  crusade  in  behalf  of  common-sense  — 
sense  where  the  Common  is  concerned?" 

"I  will  be  an  annual  subscriber — a  life-member  of  the 
organization."  He  slipped  the  glittering  hoop  around  her 
wrist  and  secured  the  clasp.  "What  a  beautiful  arm  you 
have!"  he  said,  as  if  it  were  a  discovery. 

"Now  that  it  is  set  off  by  fine  gold.  What  is  Lora's 
bracelet  like?" 

"Ask  her  to  let  you  see  it  and  then  tell  her  that  it  is  not 
her  Christmas  present,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"You  are  teasing  her?" 

"I  take  my  oath  that  she'll  forgive  me." 

Priscilla  turned  and  waved  her  arm.  "See  what  I've 
got,  Lora.  Yours  can't  be  any  prettier." 

"I've  scarcely  looked  at  mine,"  retorted  Lora.  Never 
theless,  she  opened  the  box,  which  was  still  in  her  hand, 
and  put  on  the  other  bracelet. 

Priscilla  glided  to  where  she  was  standing.     "  One's  as 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  201 

pretty  as  the  other.  There's  absolutely  nothing  to  choose 
between  them,"  she  said  after  a  moment. 

''That's  what  I  told  Hugh,"  responded  Lora,  a  little 
dryly.  "He  showed  them  to  me  for  a  moment  before  you 
came.  If  you  prefer  mine— 

"If  I  did,"  interjected  Priscilla — and  she  looked  a  little 
queer— "I'd  make  you  exchange,  for  it  isn't  your  real 
Christmas  present  and  it  is  mine." 

"What!" 

The  others  in  the  company  had  been  listening  to  the 
dialogue.  "  Lora,"  cried  Mrs.  Avery,  "  there's  one  package 
which  you've  overlooked;  that  big  bough  concealed  it." 
Whereupon,  stepping  forward,  she  detached  from  the 
tree  a  large  envelope.  "It  seems  to  be  addressed  to 
you." 

"It's  Hugh's  handwriting."  The  bubbling  laugh  con 
tended  with  a  gulp  of  contrition.  Silently  she  untied  the 
pink  ribbon  and  broke  the  seals.  She  stared  for  a  mo 
ment  at  the  document  which  she  drew  forth. 

"It's  a  deed,"  prompted  Priscilla,  who  was  looking 
over  her  shoulder.  "  I've  seen  one  at  Miss  Chippendale's." 

"  Of  a  house  in  Boston ? "  she  cried  in  a  flash.  "Tell  me 
it  is,  Hugh." 

Blaisdell  enjoyed  her  ecstasy.  "  Of  a  house  on  the  sunny 
side  of  Commonwealth  Avenue,"  he  said  with  measured 
triumph. 

"Oh,  you  darling!  It's  the  only  thing  in  the  world  I 
wanted  which  I  haven't  got."  She  ran  forward  and  threw 
her  arms  about  his  neck.  "Do  you  hear  that,  mother? — 
a  house  on  Commonwealth  Avenue!  Ah,"  she  cried, 
looking  at  the  smiling  faces  around  her,  "you  all  knew 
about  it.  It's  a  plot — a  lovely,  wicked  plot.  And  you  con 
trived  it,  you  naughty,  clever  man,  and  it  succeeded.  But 


202  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

I  don't  care,  because  it's  true — it's  true.  The  flounder  is 
a  duck." 

"The  flounder?"  ejaculated  her  mother. 

"That's  what  is  called  on  the  stage  an  aside.  A  little 
private  joke  between  me  and  my — ha!  ha!  Western  con 
science." 

"I  wasn't  in  the  secret,  for  one,"  said  Priscilla.  "Hugh 
used  me  as  a  catspaw — beguiled  me  with  this,"  and  she 
help  up  her  decorated  arm.  "But  I  love  surprises  and — 
and  this  fairly  takes  the  breath  away." 

"I'll  give  you  a  ball,  Priscilla,  next  winter — it  shall  be 
our  house-warming." 

"But  I  haven't  told  you  whose  house  it  is,"  said  Blais- 
dell,  and  he  paused  like  one  holding  back  a  choice  bit  of 
news.  "It's  the  residence  of  one  of  Boston's  most — er — 
consequential  citizens,  a  gentleman  whose  name  is  familiar 
to  you  all,  a  member  of  a  family  which  is  supposed  to  be 
endowed  with  uncommonly  blue  blood,  Mr.  Harrison 
Chippendale." 

Mrs.  Avery  hastened  to  crystallize  the  thought  which 
occurred  to  every  one.  "Mercy!  Why  does  he  wish  to 
sell?" 

"I  was  told  indirectly  that  his  circumstances  are  a  little 
straitened — that  he  can't  stand  the  modern  pace — the  pace 
which  kills  if  you  try  to  run  several  establishments  with  all 
the  comforts  of  home  on  an  old-fashioned  income.  He  has 
been  wool-gathering,  I  suppose,  and  hasn't  realized  how 
fast  the  world  is  moving,  until  he  suddenly  found  himself 
hard  up." 

"Hard  up?"  echoed  Mr.  Avery.  "I  had  been  brought 
up  to  believe  that  the  Chippendales  were  among  the  rich 
est  people  in  Boston.  You  amaze  me.  It  won't  suit  him 
at  all,  poor  man.  The  world  seems  turning  topsy-turvy. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  203 

He  hard  up  and  I  a — a  Monte  Cristo.  Their  ancestors 
were  merchant-princes." 

"I'd  rather  have  his  house  than  any  one's,"  said  Lora. 

"I  went  all  over  it  the  other  day,  from  top  to  bottom," 
said  her  mother,  "and  you're  to  have  it  just  as  it  stands, 
furniture  and  all,  except  the  pictures.  Hugh  tried  to  in 
duce  him  to  sell  the  family  portraits — through  the  broker, 
of  course — but  I  guess  they're  not  quite  destitute  enough 
for  that.  They  still  have  their  place  on  the  North  Shore." 

"What  beggarly  pride  to  refuse!"  cried  Priscilla.  She 
spoke  like  one  suddenly  roused  from  a  trance  by  a  jarring 
sound,  for  she  had  been  standing  in  a  brown  study  since 
the  announcement  of  Mr.  Chippendale's  necessity.  In  the 
wake  of  her  surprise  had  come  the  thought — What  will 
Henry  Sunnier  say  to  this?  Will  it  not  gall  him  to  the 
quick?  Be  wormwood  to  his  aristocratic  spirit?  She 
could  not  refrain  from  reflecting  that  the  whirligig  of  time 
was  bringing  its  revenges.  Yet  in  the  ne.xt  breath  she 
found  herself  listening  to  Mrs.  Avery's  recital.  When  she 
had  uttered  the  sarcasm  she  realized  that  the  others  were 
looking  at  her  inquiringly,  as  if  they  were  not  certain  of  her 
meaning;  but  she  caught  an  amused  gleam  in  her  father's 
eyes. 

"I  suppose  it's  a  question  of  price  even  where  family 
portraits  are  concerned.  Naturally  they  come  high — but 
there  is  a  price."  So  stated  Blaisdell  with  philosophic  as 
surance,  and  evidently  for  her  benefit. 

"Oh,  no.  The  Chippendales  never  would  sell  theirs — 
at  any  price.  I  don't  admire  some  of  their  qualities,  as  you 
know,  but  I'm  positive  of  that.  If  you  imagine  otherwise, 
you  don't  understand  them,  Hugh."  Priscilla  was  flush 
ing  from  astonishment  at  her  own  earnestness. 

Blaisdell  noticed  her  demeanor  and  squared  his  jaw. 


204  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"  Not  understand  them  ?  "  he  said  benignly.  "  They  would 
hate  to  sell  them,  of  course.  They  would  never  part  with 
them  for  a  song.  But  suppose — just  suppose  that  some 
one  with  a  first-class  fortune,  a  man  to  whom  a  million 
dollars  more  or  less  was  a  bagatelle,  were  to  offer  one  of 
them — that  young  civic  reformer  Henry  Chippendale 
Sumner,  for  instance — a  million  for  his  family  portraits,  if 
he  has  any?  A  rich  man's  whim — took  an  inordinate 
fancy  to  them,  was  bent  on  having  them  at  any  price. 
Would  he  or  any  Chippendale  feel  justified  in  refusing? 
A  hundred  thousand  dollars,  possibly,  yes;  but  how  about 
a  cool,  comfortable  million?" 

"No  one  but  an  insane  man  would  offer  that  for  family 
pictures,"  murmured  Mrs.  Avery. 

"I  don't  know,  mother.  As  Hugh  says,  an  obstinate 
multimillionaire,  who  hadn't  any  of  his  own,  might  pos 
sibly  set  his  heart  on  some  which  were  awfully  old  and  real. 
He  just  might.  And  then— 

"It  would  be  exactly  like  him  to  refuse — exactly  like 
him.  And  the  larger  the  sum  offered,  the  more  firmly 
would  he  stick  to  it."  Blaisdell's  allusion  to  Henry  Sum 
ner  had  flustered  Priscilla  for  a  moment;  it  seemed  too 
much  like  mind-reading.  She  had  caught  her  breath,  but 
now  the  words  flowed  defiantly.  "I  grant  that  you  under 
stand  everything  and  everybody  else  in  the  world,  Hugh; 
but  I'm  sure  you  don't  understand  the  Chippendales. 
I'm  sure  I  don't;  they're  made  up  of  inconsistencies.  And 
as  for  Henry  Chippendale  Sumner" — she  laughed  as  she 
spoke — "he's  a  Chippendale  incarnate — stiff  and  narrow 
— unornamental — self-righteous — a  chronic  objector — and 
frightfully  proper.  But  it  has  been  slowly  dawning  on  me 
lately  that  under  it  all  he  may  be  an  idealist — an  idealist  in 
disguise — stunted  in  the  growth  by  his  own  inherent  frosti- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  205 

ness.  I  used  to  think  that  he  was  a  haughty  time-server, 
and  hadn't  a  drop  of  red  blood  in  his  entire  system,  and- 
and  I  hated  him.  As  it  is,  I  pity  him.  There's  a  differ 
ence.  Yet  I  can't  be  called  exactly  prejudiced  in  his  favor. 
And  I  know  you're  mistaken — completely  mistaken." 

"  There's  no  danger  of  his  being  tempted,"  answered 
Blaisdell,  "so  we  shall  never  know." 

"But  it  wouldn't  tempt  him;  that's  the  very  point," 
Priscilla  flashed  back.  "That's  the  inhuman— the  irritat 
ing—the  tantalizing  part  of  it.  He's  made  that  way.  The 
best  thing  which  could  happen  to  him,  in  my  opinion,"  she 
continued  pensively,  "would  be  some  moral  downfall— to 
be  swept  off  the  pillar  of  his  strict  propriety  by  something 
or  somebody  vicious  or  forbidden,  so  that  he  would  have 
to  wear  sackcloth  and  ashes  for— six  months  at  least.  That 
might  possibly  cure  him." 

"I  don't  see  how  he  was  able  to  resist  you,"  lisped  Lora, 
"for  there  used  to  be  a  terribly  vicious  look  in  your  eyes 
while  he  was  talking  to  you  in  the  old  days  on  Dartmouth 
Street." 

"  But  he  was  able,  my  dear— he  was  able.  A  lofty  moral 
principle  kept  us  apart — so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  though 
I  didn't  understand  it  at  the  time.  And  the  saddest 
part  is— so  far  as  I  am  concerned— that  I  have  since 
discovered  that  he  was  right— convincingly,  painfully 

right." 

But  Mrs.  Avery  was  unwilling  to  let  the  precise  point  at 
issue  be  obscured  without  a  final  word.  "A  cool,  com 
fortable  million!  If  it  comes  to  right  and  wrong,  I  should 
call  it  a  moral  downfall  to  refuse  a  million— a  foolish,  sen 
timental  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence.  For,  after  all, 
one  does  need  so  many  things  nowadays  more  than  family 
portraits.  I  used  to  be  rather  sorry,  Priscilla,  that  you 


206  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

didn't  marry  Mr.  Sumner.  But,  as  he  appears  to  be  far 
from  practical,  I  dare  say  it  was  just  as  well,  even  if  he 
does  live  on  the  water  side  of  Beacon  Street." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  assented  Priscilla.  "But  I  wouldn't 
have  looked  quite  so  vicious  if  I  had  realized  at  the  time 
that  he  was  a  stunted  idealist." 

"I  will  go  farther,"  remarked  Blaisdell  as  he  slipped 
into  his  pocket  the  deed  of  the  Commonwealth  Avenue 
house,  which  his  wife  had  handed  him  for  safe  keeping. 
"In  the  present  age  of  the  world  it  is  really  a  moral  down 
fall  for  any  man  not  to  hold  on  to  what  he  has,  and,  if  he 
has  a  million,  not  to  leave  two.  And  as  for  the  practical 
qualities  of  your  friend  Sumner,  I  may  as  well  inform 
you,  Priscilla,  that  the  committee  on  the  Subway  has 
decided  against  him.  I  was  told  so  confidentially  this 
morning." 

"My  friend!"  repeated  Priscilla.  "I  used  to  be  his 
only  enemy  in  this  family."  She  fingered  her  bracelet  for 
a  moment,  then  threw  up  her  head  and  looked  at  Blaisdell 
with  an  air  of  challenge.  "If  he  only  would  not  continue 
to  wear  that  little  round  felt  hat,  I  think  I  should  be  rather 
proud  to  be  his  friend." 


CHAPTER  XII 

"HAVE  you  heard  of  the  engagement  in  high  life?" 
asked  Morgan  Drake  as  he  unfolded  his  napkin  at  the 
luncheon  table  of  the  Sphinx  Club. 

The  Sphinx  Club  was  an  aggregation  of  artists,  writers, 
musicians,  men  of  science  with  a  large  sprinkling  of  doc 
tors,  and  a  certain  number  of  unlabelled  spirits  who  were 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  207 

chiefly  good  fellows.  It  was  a  brotherhood  as  well  as  a 
club,  for  the  members  were  intimate,  and  their  distinction 
as  a  body  was  their  devotion  to  whatever  they  undertook, 
be  it  a  dinner  in  honor  of  some  one  who  had  merited  the 
world's  praise,  a  public  cause  which  required  to  be  fer 
vently  abetted,  or  their  own  more  private  social  rites  at 
which  they  relaxed  most  humanly.  To  foster  and  protect 
the  arts,  to  protest  against  Philistinism  and  humbug,  and 
to  let  down  the  barriers  between  soul  and  soul  was  the 
bond  which  held  them  together,  though  the  words  of  the 
Club's  printed  constitution  left  almost  as  much  to  the 
imagination  as  its  name.  The  Sphinx!  symbol  of  inscrut 
able  mystery  and  silent  power.  Now  the  Sphinx  Club 
fostered  mystery,  but  its  power  was  genial  rather  than 
silent.  Everybody  felt  at  home  there.  At  luncheon,  the 
favorite  meeting-time,  those  who  came  sat  comradelike, 
touching  elbows  at  one  large  round  table. 

On  this  particular  day  the  number  of  those  still  at  table 
had  been  reduced  to  half  a  dozen,  for  it  was  late.  No  one 
spoke  in  answer  to  Morgan's  inquiry,  but  all  looked  ex 
pectant,  so  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  stating : 

"Miss  Beatrice  Langdon  to  Chauncey  Chippendale." 

The  announcement  was  interesting.  Most  of  the  men 
knew  one  or  both  of  the  engaged  couple.  General  Horatio 
Langdon  was  a  member  of  the  club  and  often  took  an  ac 
tive  part  in  its  festivities. 

" General  Langdon's  second  daughter?"  queried  some 
one. 

"Yes." 

There  was  a  pause  and  then  Professor  Paton  said: 
"That  young  man  has  fallen  on  his  feet  again."  No  one 
seemed  disposed  to  dispute  this  declaration.  On  the  con 
trary,  the  faces  around  him  suggested  that  he  had  ex- 


208  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

pressed  the  general  thought.  "From  the  foot-ball  field  to 
the  counting-room,  from  the  counting-room  via  the  stock 
exchange  to  the  banker's  daughter,  from  the  banker's 
daughter  to  solid  citizenship  and  capitalistic  compla 
cency,"  he  continued.  Every  one  laughed  at  the  summary  if 
lengthy  epigram.  Chauncey  Chippendale  was  not  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Sphinx. 

"How  these  capitalists  abuse  each  other,"  retorted 
Morgan  Drake.  "I  detect  sheer  envy  in  Fuzzy  Wuzzy's 
remarks." 

Professor  Paton  had  won  this  nickname  not  from  his 
heavy,  piratical  mustache,  which  might  have  justified  it, 
but  from  his  predilection  for  reciting  Kipling's  verses  of 
that  title.  Some  student  had  given  it  to  him,  and  the 
Sphinx  Club  had  perpetuated  the  epithet.  Morgan's  accu 
sation  was  based  on  the  general  club  knowledge  that  the 
professor  was  the  owner  of  a  block  of  Electric  Coke,  and 
consequently  had  become  able  to  commit  all  sorts  of  finan 
cial  indiscretions. 

The  professor  ignored  the  taunt,  or  rather  he  defended 
himself  indirectly.  "Chauncey  Chippendale  is  a  good 
fellow  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word,  and  it's  evident 
that  he  is  going  to  be  a  very  successful  fellow  in  the  mod 
ern  sense  of  the  word.  But  what  has  made  him  so  ?  What 
is  his  stock  in  trade?  An  agreeable  exterior,  a  muscular 
personality,  humorous  horse  sense,  and  the  ambition  to 
make  a  lot  of  money  quickly.  And  he's  supposed  to  be 
the  flower  of  Boston  youth — a  Chippendale.  Everything 
which  savors  of  scholarly  interests  bores  him.  His  con 
versation  is  complacently  limited  to  the  stock  market,  ath 
letic  sports  and  humorous  stories.  He's  manly — oh,  yes, 
he's  manly;  but  he  isn't  educated." 

"But  you  are,  Fuzzy,"  replied  Morgan.     "Educated, 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  209 

I  mean — and  envious,  too.  You're  envious  of  him,  and 
I'm  envious  of  you.  Your  coffers  are  bursting  with  Elec 
tric  Coke,  you've  brought  out  your  magnum  opus,  you 
may  be  raised  any  time  to  a  full  professorship,  and,  com 
paratively  speaking,  you're  a  devilish  eminent  member  of 
society.  As  for  me,  I'm  poor  as  a  church  mouse,  and  no 
one  will  buy  my  books  because  I  persist  in  trying  to  tell 
the  truth  as  I  see  it  instead  of  writing  love  stories  with  a 
hopeful  note." 

"Yes,  I  am  educated  and  I'm  proud  of  the  fact.  But 
what,  pray,  do  I  envy  Chauncey  Chippendale?" 

"The  fact  that  he  is  engaged  to  be  married— that  his 
best  girl  has  accepted  him." 

"What  has  matrimony  to  do  with  the  question?" 

"Everything.  It's  the  civilized  woman's  privilege  to 
pick  out  the  father  of  her  children  by  the  process  of  elim 
ination.  She  gives  the  mitten  to  the  man  she  doesn't  fancy. 
You're  eminent  in  your  way,  as  I  said  just  now,  but  where 
the  mating  girl  is  concerned,  you're  a  side  show  compared 
with  a  person  like  Chauncey  Chippendale.  The  hero  of 
the  modern  mating  girl  is  the  man  who  does  deeds  which 
can  be  measured  in  dollars  and  cents — the  man  who  inci 
dentally  will  give  her  everything  she  desires  and  deck  her 
with  jewels.  You  are— we  are,  figuratively  speaking,  mil 
dewed — too  much  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  intro 
spective  thought.  And  she's  right." 

"Who's  right?" 

"Woman.  If  we  were  geniuses,  she'd  jump  at  us  as  of 
yore;  but  she  knows  we're  not;  that  we're  merely  left 
overs.  She  knows  that  Boston  has  ceased  to  be  a  literary 
centre  and — and  become  only  a  second-rate  industrial 
hive.  'Ichabod,  thy  glory  has  departed.'  'There  were 
giants  in  those  days.'  How  many  men  in  Harvard  College 


210  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

would  know  where  those  quotations  come  from?  No, 
Fuzzy,  turn  your  critical  eyes  on  your  introspective  soul 
and  acknowledge  that,  matrimonially  speaking,  we  are 
bargain  sales — the  aftermath  of  a  fashion  which  has  spent 
itself.  Cheer  up,  old  man,"  he  continued  after  the  laugh 
ter  had  subsided,  "I  don't  mean  that  we  may  not  be  mar 
ried  some  day.  There  are  women,  remember,  in  the  same 
predicament  as  we — mildewed.  But  the  fresh-faced 
daughters  of  the  morning  star  are  not  for  us." 

Everybody  smiled,  for  it  was  currently  reported  that 
the  frowning  professor,  by  way  of  recognizing  that  his  long 
devotion  in  a  certain  quarter  was  hopeless,  had  recently 
begun  to  make  frequent  calls  on  the  younger  Miss  Sumner, 
one  of  Henry's  sisters. 

"And  if  so — and  if  so,  are  we  tamely  to  submit?  Are 
we  to  gnash  our  teeth,  but  utter  no  protest?  Become 
fawning  fags  of  the  illiterate  money  power?" 

"Fawning  fags  is  beautiful.  What  we — you  and  I, 
Fuzzy — need,"  interposed  Morgan,  resting  his  head  on  his 
hands  and  gazing  across  the  table  contemplatively,  "to 
make  us  appear  respectable — to  redeem  us  in  the  eyes 
of  the  illiterate  money  power — is  a  cause,  a  burning 
cause.  Wanted,  a  cause  to  take  the  place  of  Brook  Farm 
and  Transcendentalism  and  the  Anti-Slavery  movement 
and  the  Civil  War — something  to  fuse  our  doubts  in  the 
crucible  of  fiery  action  1  No  true  Bostonian  was  ever 
happy  without  a  burning  cause — ever  happy  or  ever  really 
useful." 

"Are  you  hankering  after  another  war?"  asked  one  of 
the  men. 

"Heaven  forbid!  Are  not  half  the  Club  members  of 
the  Society  for  the  Perpetuation  of  Peace?  Only  some 
great  impulse  to  make  us  forget  our  doubts." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  211 

" Our  doubts ? "  queried  the  professor  doggedly.  "What 
doubts?" 

Morgan  indulged  in  a  sardonic  smile.  "Oh,  so  many. 
But  first  of  all  our  great  doubt— whether  democracy  is  not 
making  a  mess  of  things." 

"Democracy — tiresome,  overworked  word,"  groaned 
Paton.  "A  specious  excuse  for  mediocre  standards  all 
along  the  line.  I  am  proud  of  being  a  critic  no  less  than 
of  being  reasonably  well  educated." 

"We  are  in  the  same  boat,  Fuzzy.  We  avert  our  eyes  or 
hold  our  noses,  and  feel  ordained  to  pick  everything  to 
pieces.  We're  so  sad  while  the  others  are  so  glad;  and 
the  most  hopeless  thing  for  you  and  me,"  he  went  on  rue 
fully,  "is  that  I  shrewdly  suspect  there  is  a  burning  cause 
right  under  our  noses — just  like  Electric  Coke — only  we 
shut  our  eyes  to  it  because — because  we  don't  wish  to 
recognize  it;  and  it's  no  other  than  that  self-same  tire 
some,  overworked  democracy." 

The  professor  gave  a  vicious  twist  to  his  moustache  and 
said  audibly  to  his  neighbor,  "Drake  is  sometimes  taken 
this  way;  he's  half  a  socialist." 

Morgan  nodded.  "Intellectually  I'm  a  radical;  tem 
peramentally,  I'm  a  carping,  over-sensitive  aristocrat. 
But  really,  you  know,"  he  exclaimed  wistfully,  "  what  I  was 
just  saying  is  true.  Boston's  burning  causes  in  the  past 
have  been  ideals — liberty,  the  freeing  of  the  slave,  the 
saving  of  the  Union,  the  uplifting  and  refining  of  the  indi 
vidual  soul  by  the  white  light  of  Concord  philosophy.  Our 
ancestors  breathed  an  upper  air — or  thought  they  did. 
We  would  fain  do  the  same  and  lo !  the  yellow  newspaper, 
the  huge  department  store,  the  toiling  mass,  the  vicious 
professional  politician,  and,  last  and  greatest — the  flower 
and  quintessence  of  it  all — the  exuberant  captain  of  in- 


212  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

dustry,  overflowing  with  efficiency,  prosperity  and  opti 
mism,  come  trooping  by  and  we  fail  to  thrill  to  the  music 
of  the  latest  world-movement— the  march  of  the  common 
herd.  Not  only  do  we  decline  to  illuminate  our  houses  in 
honor  of  the  procession — extinguishing  every  light  and 
pulling  down  the  blinds — but  we  squat  on  the  roofs  and 
shy  missiles  at  the  transparencies." 

"Hear — hear,"  cried  several  voices,  as  Morgan  paused 
for  breath. 

"We  do,"  said  the  professor  stoutly.  "We  will  remain 
Concord  minute-men  to  the  last.  Let  them  hang  us  to  the 
lamp-posts  if  they  choose." 

"  But  they  won't.  If  we  decline  to  sympathize  and  co 
operate,  they'll  simply  ignore  us — crowd  us  out.  It's  the 
march  of  destiny;  the  Celtic  pick-and-shovel  men  of  the 
North  End  have  become  rich  contractors  in  Roxbury; 
their  tenements  are  in  possession  of  the  Italians,  Poles  and 
Jews;  there  isn't  a  decent  morning  newspaper  in  what 
was  once  the  literary  centre  of  America,  and  Hugh  McD. 
Blaisdell  is  in  the  seats  of  the  mighty  on  Commonwealth 
Avenue.  We  are  out  of  date,  out  of  step,  Fuzzy.  We 
were  born  too  late  in  a  Boston  grown  too  big  and  easy 
going.  And  here  comes  the  most  uncompromising  of  us 
all" — he  added  as  Henry  Sumner  strode  into  the  room. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?"  asked  Henry  eagerly,  as 
he  took  a  seat  at  the  table. 

"Your  cousin's  engagement,"  said  several  at  once. 

Henry  looked  aghast.  "It  isn't  to  come  out  for  three 
days  yet." 

"That's  what  three  different  people  informed  me  at  the 
time  they  informed  me,"  said  Morgan.  "But  they  knew. 
It's  all  over  town,  dear  boy." 

"But  the  notes  announcing  it  don't  go  out  until  to- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  213 

morrow  and  most  of  the  relations  haven't  been  told  yet," 
replied  Henry  with  concern.  "I  haven't  breathed  it  to  a 
soul." 

"These  are  degenerate  days,  Henry,"  remarked  the 
professor.  "Our  most  sacred  usages  are  being  violated; 
there  is  no  longer  a  New  England  conscience." 

"  So  it  seems  in  more  ways  than  one.  What  do  you 
suppose  that  man  Blaisdell  proposes  to  do  now?  Erect 
a  towering  building  on  the  slope  of  Beacon  Hill.  Bache 
lors'  apartments,  story  on  story — an  eyesore  to  the 
neighborhood." 

"Blaisdell!"  ejaculated  the  professor.  "A  case  which 
cries  to  heaven.  And  yet,  when  you  came  in,  Morgan  was 
berating  us  for  our  lack  of  sympathy  with  triumphant  de 
mocracy — invoking  us  to  cease  to  be  mere  obstructionists 
and  to  extend  the  right  hand  of  cooperation  to  the  exult 
ant  and  progressive  money  power.  And  he  cited  Hugh 
McD.  Blaisdell  as  the  flower  and  quintessence  of  the  new 
world  movement." 

"I  have  tried  to  cooperate  with  him;  be  lenient  toward 
his  point  of  view,"  cried  Henry  tensely.  "And  just  as  I 
begin  to  calm  down  and  to  hope  that  he  really  intends  to 
be  a  public  benefactor  after  all,  he  does  some  other  mon 
strous  thing  like  this.  Are  mere  huge  rentals,"  he  added, 
turning  toward  Morgan  Drake,  "a  legitimate  civilized 
excuse  for  ruining  the  symmetry  of  a  picturesque  neigh 
borhood?  Or  put  it  this  way — is  the  man  who  shuts  his 
eyes  to  every  sentimental  and  aesthetic  consideration  to 
be  allowed  to  usurp  leadership  in  a  city  like  this  without 
protest?  I  don't  wish  to  be  a  mere  obstructionist;  I  be 
lieve  in  democratic  progress,  but — but  is  nothing  to  con 
trol  but  mere  dollars  and  cents?" 

"Don't  glare  at  me,  Henry,"  said  Morgan.    "I  glory  in 


214  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

being  an  obstructionist — though  I  may  starve  in  conse 
quence.  So  does  Fuzzy,  notwithstanding  he  is  in  Electric 
Coke.  So  do  you — in  spite  of  having  been  told  you  are  a 
crank.  That's  our  constitutional  defect.  Consequently, 
we  become  mere  flies  on  the  chariot  wheel  of  progress. 
Blaisdell  will  tell  you,  of  course,  that  he  owes  a  moral  duty  to 
his  syndicate,  his  cestuis,  or  whomever  he  represents  to  de 
velop  the  property  for  all  it  is  worth.  Be  grateful  if  he 
doesn't  let  the  roof  space  for  a  huge  signboard  to  advertise 
a  breakfast  food  or  patent  medicine.  It's  within  the  law, 
but  I  don't  believe  he'll  do  it.  Blaisdell  is  a  moral  man  in 
his  way." 

"That's  the  infernal  part  of  it,"  said  Henry  who  was 
making  pellets  of  his  bread  as  he  listened.  "He  always 
has  a  plausible  argument  for  whatever  he  does.  My  imme 
diate  impulse  was  to  apply  for  an  injunction;  but  the  first 
person  I  encountered — it  was — er — a  friend  of  his,  and  I 
spoke  my  mind — defended  him  as  you  have  and  had  the 
argument  pat.  Oh,  I  see,  I  see.  We're  powerless.  He 
stands  transfigured,  morally  vindicated,  I  dare  say.  Only 
what  are  we  coming  to  ?  " 

"He  has  just  subscribed  ten  thousand  dollars  to  the 
Harvard  athletic  fund,"  said  Professor  Paton  gloomily. 

"But  give  the  devil  his  due,  Fuzzy— he  presented 
twenty  thousand  to  the  Art  Museum  and  fifteen  to  the 
Maternity  Hospital,"  retorted  Morgan. 

"And  he  bought  two  of  Burton's  pictures— just  like 
a  real  Mecsenas.  I  have  been  advising  people  to  buy  them 
— telling  them  they  were  dirt  cheap — every  time  Burton 
gave  an  exhibition,  but  they  were  afraid.  They  wanted  a 
lead.  They've  got  it,  and  now  Burton's  prices  will  go  up." 
The  speaker  was  one  of  the  artists. 

"I  know.      And  all  Boston  was  at  his  wife's  ball  last 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  215 

week,"  admitted  the  professor.  "They  listened  to  Melba 
sing,  consumed  his  champagne  and  terrapin,  and  apologized 
to  themselves  for  being  there." 

"I  had  to  go  for  personal  reasons,"  said  Henry  solici 
tously.  "I  am  intimate  with  Miss  Avery.  Lots  of  people 
didn't  go— people  whom  they  didn't  know  and  whom  they 
invited.  For  instance,  neither  my  Uncle  Harrison  nor  any 
of  his  immediate  family  were  there." 

"And  I  dare  say  the  Blaisdells  didn't  understand  why 
buying  a  house  from  a  man  doesn't  constitute  him  a  social 
acquaintance,"  said  the  professor.  "When  a  woman's 
motto  is,  'don't  wait  to  be  invited  by  the  people  you  wish 
to  know,'  her  husband's  bowing  acquaintance  in  an  ele 
vator  will  serve  as  an  introduction.  The  opportunity  to 
hear  Melba  sing  free  during  the  supper  hour  was  too  much 
for  the  average  New  England  conscience.  We  three  all 
went  of  course,  as  old  acquaintances— social  relics  of  the 
merry  Saturday  nights  when  Lora  sang  Gilbert  and  Sul 
livan,  and  Mrs.  Avery  cooked  Welsh  rabbits.  It  was  gor 
geously  done— a  little  too  gorgeously;  and  save  that  she 
didn't  know  the  people,  Lora— Mrs.  Blaisdell  was  equal  to 
the  emergency.  As  for  Miss  Avery" — he  lingered  on  the 
word  and  lit  a  cigar  before  proceeding  to  finish  these  criti 
cal  memories  of  the  late  entertainment— "  she  gave  an  air 
of  distinction  to  any  part  of  the  room  in  which  she  ap 
peared.  And  it's  a  comfort  to  remember  that  her  stock  is 
the  old  stock — generations  of  low  living  and  high  think 
ing."  The  Professor  had  renounced  personal  hopes,  hut 
he  could  be  manfully  magnanimous,  and  this  might  have 
been  termed  a  swan  song. 

"An  intelligent  and  not  too  atrabilious  summary, 
Fuzzy,"  said  Morgan.  Then,  putting  his  arm  around  the 
shoulder  of  Henry,  who  was  sitting  next  to  him  eating  in 


216  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

silence,  he  whispered,  "Was  it  she  who  defended  Blaisdell 
about  the  apartment  house?" 

"It  was." 

" How  she  does  stand  up  for  him!  That  in  itself  ought  to 
show  there's  lots  of  good  in  the  man." 

Henry  was  silent  a  moment.  "I  repeat,  I'm  not  such  a 
crank  that  I  glory  in  being  chiefly  an  obstructionist,"  he 
said  presently.  "I  tell  you  I'm  not,"  he  asserted,  since 
Morgan  began  to  blow  rings  of  smoke  which  he  ascribed  to 
sardonic  doubt.  "I'm  endeavoring  to  reform." 

"I  admit  you're  becoming  almost  a  dandy  in  your 
dress,"  observed  Morgan.  "Your  neck-tie  the  other  day 
had  a  dash  of  color  that  was  positively  hectic.  And  I  no 
tice  you've  banished  the  little  round  gray  felt  hat.  How 
many  years  have  you  clung  to  that?" 

"It  was  comfortable.  Well,  those  are  the  outer  mani 
festations  of  a  spiritual  change.  A  man  grows  older,  and 
sees  things  in  a  different  light.  But  when,  as  Fuzzy  says, 
our  most  sacred  usages  are  violated,  how  is  one  to  avoid 
being  a  crank  sometimes?" 

Morgan  put  his  arm  around  his  friend's  shoulder  again 
and  whispered,  "Did  she  request  you  to  burn  the  little 
round  gray  hat?" 

"  She  did  not.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  she  does 
not  trouble  herself  about  my  exterior." 

"A  woman  invariably  keeps  her  eye — the  corner  of  her 
eye  on  a  persevering  man.  Yet  I  do  agree  that  she  is 
more  bent  on  convincing  your  uncompromising  soul  than 
on  rectifying  your  ungainly  person.  Why  don't  you  put 
the  question  to  her  instead  of  to  me  ?  " 

"  It's  a  matter  of  character,  not  of  sentiment.  But  since 
you  ascribe  my  realization  of  my  shortcomings  to — some 
one  in  particular — I  have  asked  the  question  of  her  sub- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  217 

stantially  more  than  once.  And  invariably— sooner  or 
later,  she  has  referred  me  to  the  same  model.  Not  in 
exact  words — but  her  intimations  have  said  only  too 
plainly,  'that  is  the  man  to  imitate.'  I  have  tried  to  see 
him  with  her  eyes,  and,  though  outwardly  resolute,  I  have 
gone  away  almost  pentinent— certainly  conciliatory.  But 
a  week  later  finds  me  fuming  again  over  some  such  thing 
as  this  apartment  house— his  handiwork.  All  the  while 
the  model  prospers— flourishes  like  the  bay  tree;  he  stands 
the  embodiment  of  genial  common-sense;  but  I  seem  to 
remain  as  I  began— though,  confound  it  all,"  he  added 
with  a  doughty  nod,  "I  do  think  I've  improved." 

The  others  had  left  the  table.  He  and  Morgan  were 
alone.  They  were  close  friends,  and  what  Henry  had  just 
said  was  virtually  a  confidence — an  unbosoming  of  his 
perplexities,  which  he  knew  might  be  treated  whimsically, 
but  would  not  be  abused. 

"All  this  comes  of  wooing  a  proud  beauty."  Morgan 
stirred  the  sugar  in  his  black  coffee.  "Who  is  going  to 
tame  her,  I  wonder?  She  has  only  the  corner  of  her  eye 
on  you,  Henry.  Her  full  gaze  is  fixed  on— 

He  paused  and  Henry  answered  without  hesitation, 
"The  ideal  man." 

"I  believe  you're  right.  And  suppose  she  doesn't  find 
him?  Stick  to  her,  Henry.  Girls  like  that  can  sometimes 
be  tired  out.  Blaisdell  is  happily  married.  Or  shall  I  say 
happily  is  married?" 

Henry  made  an  impatient  movement.  "I  don't  choose 
to  believe  that  she  would  marry  him  if  he  were  free.  That 
may  be  fatuous— but  Miss  Avery  is  to  me  the  ideal 
woman." 

"Bravo I  introspective,  thin-blooded  Bostonian.  And 
now  she  is  an  heiress  to  boot." 


218  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Yes.    That  will  broaden  her  life." 

"But  your  slightly  gloomy  tone  suggests  that  it  does  not 
help  your  individual  chances.  Hasn't  your  spiritual  change 
overcome  your  congenial  tendency  to  shy  at  a  rich  girl? 
I  was  predestined  to  fall  in  love  with  a  poor  one.  But  if 
you  let  your  New  England  conscience  conjure  up  an  im 
aginary  barrier  between  you  because  of  Electric  Coke,  you 
deserve  to  lose  the  ideal  woman." 

"But— but  I  shall  have  to  explain  to  you  that  I— er— 
implied  to  her  once  that  I  couldn't  afford  to  marry  her. 
I  don't  mean  by  this,"  Henry  hastened  to  add,  "that  she 
cared  for  me  in  the  least.  In  fact,  she  assured  me  to  the 
contrary  in  unmistakable  terms.  I  had  been  on  the  point 
of  offering  myself  to  her,  but  discovered  that  I  had  to  earn 
my  own  living.  I  was  in  no  position  to  support  a  wife, 
and  so— 

"You  told  her  so.  A  case  of  conscience.  I  see  it  all." 
Morgan  could  not  restrain  his  mirth.  "You  played  into 
her  hands,  Henry.  And  I  perceive  your  predicament — 
you  would  naturally  feel  a  little  hesitation  about  implying 
to  her  under  her  present  opulent  circumstances  that  you 
are  ready  now  to  run  the  risk." 

"I  merely  wished  you  to  understand  that  it  was  not  an 
ordinary  case  of  shying  at  a  rich  girl." 

Morgan  put  his  head  on  one  side  reflectively.  "Henry, 
since  you  are  bent  on  spiritual  change,  why  don't  you  try 
flirting  desperately  with  some  one  else  ?  If  you  have  scru 
ples  against  endangering  another  heart,  you  might  let  the 
victim  into  the  secret.  Or  sow  a  few  belated  wild  oates." 

Henry  shook  his  head.  "I  can't  make  believe.  She 
would  detect  the  imposture  provided  it  interested  her  suf 
ficiently  to  notice  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Morgan  with  a  sigh,  "I  dare  say  you  would 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  219 

cut  a  very  unconvincing  figure.  Your  virtue,  Henry,  is 
your  worst  enemy.  You're  constitutionally  unfitted  for 
the  part." 

" Don't  I  know  it?  Don't  I  know,  too,  that  she  regards 
me  as  incapable  of  passion — a  sort  of  crawfish  lover. 
There's  from  her  point  of  view  my  most  unpardonable 
defect.  And  while  I  don't  admit  for  a  minute  being 
much  worse  than  morally  clean  and  a  little  shy,  there's 
just  a  scintilla  of  truth  which  justifies  her.  One  of  the 
chief  consequences  of  introspection  is  the  ability  to  submit 
one's  own  shortcomings  to  the  microscope.  I'm  painfully 
aware  that  she  believes  I  have  no  red  blood  in  my  veins. 
Oh,  yes,  there  lies  the  crux  of  the  whole  situation." 

Morgan  had  listened  appreciatively  to  the  almost  im 
passioned  harangue.  "You  were  always  intelligent, 
Henry.  But  your  own  recognition  of  all  this  puts  a  new 
face  on  it.  And  any  one  can  see  the  change.  You  no 
longer  take  your  glass  of  wine  and  smoke  your  cigar  as  if 
under  protest.  Any  mother  would  still  trust  her  daughter 
with  you  on  a  dark  night,  but  you.  have  ceased  to  be  a 
walking  rebuke  to  immorality.  Even  she  must  have  no 
ticed  that  your  virtue  no  longer  sticks  out  so  obtrusively 
as  formerly.  Your  perseverance  is  a  part  of  your  destiny— 
to  go  plodding  along  year  in  and  year  out  in  pursuit  of  the 
same  woman  after  she  has  persistently  refused  you  on  the 
score  that  you  are  constitutionally  cold  and  unromantic; 
for  whatever  you  may  be  inwardly,  the  leopard  can't 
change  his  spots.  You  always  will  be  what  you  are,  thank 
God.  (I  say  thank  God  advisedly).  You  always  will  be 
sighing  for  the  stars  with  the  manners  of  a  Puritan,  just  as 
you  always  will  be  thin  and  exceedingly  anxious  to  do 
right.  Stick  to  her,  Henry." 

Henry  rose.    "  There's  the  very  point — the  leopard  can't 


220  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

change  his  spots.  He  can  change  his  habits,  but  not  his 
besetting  nature.  And  there's  where  we  are.  And  nothing 
else  would  count.  Besides,  I've  temporarily  reached  the 
limit  of  my  spiritual  progress." 

"You  mean  that  it's  the  turn  now  of  the  ideal  woman 
to  make  concessions?" 

11 1  mean  that  a  man  cannot  afford  to  sacrifice  every  con 
viction  merely  because  he  is  in  love." 

"How  like  a  Bostonian  to  say  'merely'  when  weighing 
love  in  the  scales  with  moral  duty.  And  yet  you  demur  at 
not  being  mistaken  for  a  fiery  furnace." 

Henry  tapped  his  breast.  "  The  furnace  is  there  just  the 
same.  It  seems  always  to  be  my — destiny,  as  you  call  it — 
to  have  this  doubted.  Oh,  yes,"  he  added,  pulling  the 
brown  drooping  mustache  which  now  shielded  the  severity 
of  his  mouth,  "I  admit  that  'merely'  was  just  like  me. 
But  as  to  sticking,  you  know  equally  well,  Morgan,  that  I 
not  only  intend  to  persevere,  but — but,  that  in  my  inex 
pressive  way,  the  issue  means  life  or  death  to  me.  And 
no  one  would  ever  guess  it.  That's  what  you're  thinking, 
isn't  it?  I  must  be  going." 

Morgan  wrinkled  his  brow,  then  hooking  his  arm 
through  Henry's,  he  walked  with  him  to  the  head  of  the 
stair  leading  down  from  the  dining-room.  "  You  address  me 
as  a  philosopher — and  as  a  friend.  Why  should  your  ardor 
be  so  unconvincing  ?  I  can  see  from  the  worried  look  in 
your  conscientious  eyes  that  you  fear  you  may  be  late  for 
an  engagement,  but,"  he  said,  detaining  him  by  the  button 
of  his  coat,  "you  have  sought  counsel  and  you  must  listen. 
Suppose,  Henry,  that  you  were  to  hear  to-morrow  that  Miss 
Avery — the  ideal  woman — was  married.  What  would  you 
do  ?  Something  desperate — blood-curdling—unseemly — 
spectacular?  No,  you  would  submit  sadly  but  decently; 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  221 

drop  ashes  on  the  fiery  furnace,  cherish  her  image,  maybe, 
to  the  grave — for  I  agree  that  you  are  the  embodiment  of 
faithfulness — and  settle  down  again  to  what  you  would 
term  the  serious  work  of  life.  That  is  so,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Henry's  brow  clouded  and  he  drew  back  instinctively 
like  one  seeking  to  evade  answering  categorically  an  em 
barrassing  question,  but  the  inquisitor  clung  tenaciously 
to  the  button.  "  Do  ?  What  could  I  do  ?  "  Then,  seeing 
that  Morgan  was  still  expectant  he  added,  "Necessarily — 
I  should  submit." 

"  Exactly."  Morgan's  tone  was  mournfully  triumphant. 
"And  you  admit  it.  The  other  lovers  the  civilized  world 
over — the  Frenchman — the  German — the  Italian — the 
most  conservative  of  them,  the  Englishman — Blaisdell, 
yes,  Blaisdell — every  one  but  a  simon  pure  Bostonian  would 
do  the  same — submit  and  settle  down.  But  they  wouldn't 
be  aware  of  it  in  advance,"  he  cried  eagerly.  "They 
would  declare  when  confronted,  as  I  have  confronted  you, 
that  they  were  liable  to  blow  their  brains  out  in  the  event 
of  losing  the  ideal  woman.  If  you  had  only  said  '  liable,' 
Henry!"  Morgan  let  go  the  button  with  the  finality  of  a 
physician  who  has  clearly  diagnosed  a  case  of  cardiac  lesion. 

"To  blow  one's  brains  out  in  this  age  of  the  world— 

"  Would  be  incompatible  with  the  highest  type  of  man 
hood.  Indisputably.  But  to  be  certain  in  advance  that 
one  wouldn't — there's  the  crucial  point,  my  dear  fellow." 

Henry  flushed.  Yet  what  was  this  but  a  reiteration  in 
another  form  of  what  he  had  previously  admitted?  He 
threw  up  his  head.  "  It  is  sorry  comfort  to  be  informed  on 
the  verge  of  middle  life  that  it  is  the  lot  of  the  introspective 
Bostonian  not  to  know  that  he  is  not  in  love.  Has  the 
philosopher  and  friend  the  antidote?" 

"You  know  that  the  truth  is  more  precious  to  you 


222  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

than  anything  else,  Henry.  What  do  we  live  for — you 
and  I — except  the  truth?  There  is  no  antidote." 

4 'Yet  it  was  you  who  urged  me  to  stick  to  her." 

"I  do  still,  unhesitatingly.  You  do  not  comprehend  my 
full  purpose,  Henry;  which  was  to  be  encouraging — dis- 
criminately  stimulating.  Mind  you,  if  she  belonged  to  any 
one  of  the  foreign  nationalities — were  any  one  in  fact  but 
a  Bostonian — your  case  might  be  hopeless;  she  might 
never  be  able  to  discover  how  much  you  really  do  care — 
for  you  do  care  a  lot,  Henry.  And  domestically  you  would 
be  the  salt  of  the  earth.  But  she  is  a  Bostonian — not  one 
of  the  mildewed  kind,  but  one  of  the  daughters  of  the 
morning — and  she  glories  in  having  flung  off  the  shackles 
of  introspection.  Can  one  thus  escape  destiny  ?  At  least," 
he  continued  eagerly,  and  reaching  out  he  seized  once  more 
the  button  of  Henrv's  coat  as  if  to  make  sure  that  this  es 
sence  of  his  counsel  should  not  be  missed,  "at  least  it  be 
hooves  us  as  introspective  spirits  to  ask  and  ponder  that 
question.  Can  the  leopardess  change  her  spots?  She  is 
single  still  and  past  twenty-five.  Think  of  that.  She  has 
not  yet  found  the  ideal  man.  Think  of  that.  Suppose 
she  does  not  find  him?"  Morgan  put  the  hypothesis  in  a 
dramatic  whisper  and  pausing,  with  his  whimsical  face 
aslant,  looked  at  Henry. 

"  Quit  your  nonsense.  This  heritage  of  turning  people 
inside  out — it  is  one  thing  to  apply  the  process  to  me,  an 
other " 

But  Morgan  waved  away  the  remonstrance  as  trivial. 
His  knowing  countenance  scintillated  with  sophisticated 
conviction.  " Be  on  the  alert,"  he  exclaimed;  "watch  for 
the  moment  when  she  discovers  that  he  does  not  exist. 
Go  to  her  then,  and  she  may  fall  with  a  dull,  sickening 
thud  into  your  arms." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  223 

Henry  almost  blushed.  This  violent  metaphor  so  viv 
idly  portrayed  the  act  of  self-surrender  that,  although  the 
prophecy  was  an  illuminating  confirmation  of  his  own 
secret  hopes,  he  stood  momentarily  flustered.  Doubtless 
Morgan  misinterpreted  this  as  dismay  at  the  outlook,  for 
he  declared  almost  defiantly: 

"It's  your  only  hope." 

Henry  hastened  to  mollify  him  by  absolute  acquiescence. 
"I've  realized  for  some  time  that  if  she  does  so — turns 
to  me,  it  will  be  as  a  last  resort." 

"If?  It's  a  foregone  conclusion  that  she  will,"  he  cried 
with  trenchant  conviction.  "  Properly  handled  it  becomes 
a  perfect  cinch." 

Then,  as  Henry  lingered,  gasping  at  this  other  bold 
figure  of  speech,  Morgan  pushed  him  down  the  staircase 
exclaiming:  "If  you're  not  careful,  you'll  be  late  for  your 
engagement  and  duty  will  have  been  sacrificed  to  that 
wanton  handmaiden  'mere'  love." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HENRY'S  engagement  was  with  his  mother.  He  had 
promised  to  devote  his  Saturday  afternoon  to  her,  and 
he  now  proceeded  to  hasten  homeward.  During  these 
occasional  outings  together  they  were  apt  to  make  the 
round  of  the  new  sights  of  interest;  visit  some  current  ex 
hibition  by  a  rising  artist  at  the  gallery  of  one  of  the  local 
picture  dealers;  look  in  at  the  bric-a-brac  or  new  Japanese 
stores  with  an  eye  primarily  to  aesthetic  cultivation,  but 
also  in  the  hope  of  seeing  just  the  right  thing  for  a  wedding 
present  (for  Mrs.  Sumner  invariably  had  a  prospective 


224  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

wedding  present  at  the  back  of  her  mind);  scrutinize  the 
aspect  of  the  new  Public  Library  in  Copley  Square,  and 
finally,  bring  up  at  the  Art  Museum,  where,  in  addition  to 
the  pictures,  potteries  and  casts  with  which  they  were 
already  familiar,  there  was  certain  to  be  some  artistic  nov 
elty,  lavishly  purchased  as  a  masterpiece  with  the  precious 
funds  of  the  institution,  around  which  the  currents  of 
counter  criticism  played  bewilderingly.  In  her  circle  there 
were  invariably,  to  begin  with,  people  who  denied  that  the 
masterpiece  was  an  original;  others  who  disputed  its 
merit;  and  everybody  with  an  artistic  New  England  con 
science  felt  obliged  to  inspect  it  in  order  to  have  an 
opinion  on  the  subject. 

Once  in  a  while  the  mother  and  son  would  vary  the 
programme  by  a  trip  to  the  suburbs.  There  was  Colonel 
Sumner's  grave  at  Mt.  Auburn  to  be  tended,  and  in  the 
same  cemetery,  not  far  from  this,  the  family  vault  in  which 
several  generations  of  Chippendales  reposed,  marked  by 
a  tall,  commanding  shaft  of  plain  granite.  It  was  Mrs. 
Sumner's  wish  to  be  buried  beside  her  husband  out  of 
sentiment  for  him,  but  she  approved  of  Henry's  eager  in 
tention  to  be  cremated  as  sanitary  and  sensible.  On  the 
way  back  they  were  apt  to  stop  at  Harvard  to  look  at 
some  new  building  or  to  revisit  the  wonderful  collection  of 
glass  flowers  in  the  Agassiz  museum.  Indeed,  it  may 
fairly  be  said  that  Mrs.  Sumner's  vision  as  a  cultivated 
woman  was  bounded  on  the  north  by  Harvard  College,  on 
the  east  by  the  dome  of  the  State  House  and  by  Boston 
Common,  on  the  south  by  the  Boston  Art  Museum,  and 
on  the  west  by  Mt.  Auburn  cemetery.  And  latterly 
might  be  added,  on  the  north,  north-east  by  the  Associated 
Charities,  and  on  the  south,  south-west  by  the  Boston 
Symphony  Orchestra.  Whatever  affected  these  land- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  225 

marks  stirred  her  deeply,  for  they  seemed  to  her  to  repre 
sent  individually  and  to  embody  collectively  the  spirit  of 
enlightened  human  progress.  Her  husband's  glorious  but 
untimely  death  had  deprived  him  of  the  privilege  of  help 
ing  to  safeguard  these  spiritual  points  of  the  compass,  but 
she  had  successfully  endeavored  to  transmit  to  Henry  her 
own  allegiance.  And  naturally,  for  it  had  become  almost 
a  heritage  of  the  Chippendales  to  be  loyal  to  them  in  an 
official  capacity.  Her  father  had  been  an  Overseer  of 
Harvard  College.  Her  brother  Harrison  was  an  Overseer 
and  also  a  trustee  of  the  Art  Museum.  Her  sister  Geor- 
giana  was  a  liberal  and  willing  contributor  to  the  subscrip 
tion  lists  constantly  in  private  circulation  for  purposes 
connected  with  one  or  the  other  of  these  institutions,  and 
her  brother  Baxter  was  a  member  of  Mt.  Auburn  Ceme 
tery  Corporation.  She  herself  was  on  the  Board  of  Asso 
ciated  Charities,  to  the  funds  of  which  she  made  a  gener 
ous  annual  donation,  and  in  the  practical  philanthropic 
work  of  which  both  her  daughters  took  part.  And  from 
the  establishment  of  the  Symphony  Orchestra  all  of  the 
family,  except  Baxter,  had  been  assiduous  season  ticket 
holders.  In  short,  Mrs.  Sumner  prided  herself  on  being 
a  thorough-going  Bostonian,  and  would  have  resented 
being  mistaken  for  anything  else.  She  cherished  the  city's 
traditions,  and  she  desired  that  her  children  should  be 
associated  with  and  help  to  preserve  those  social  institu 
tions  which  she  had  been  taught  to  venerate. 

At  the  time  of  depreciation  in  the  shares  of  the  Warrior 
Mills  she  had  felt  obliged  to  retrench— to  look  more 
closely  after  her  expenses  and  cut  off  superfluities,  but 
there  had  been  no  question  of  moving  from  their  Beacon 
Street  house.  She  had  approved  of  Harrison's  conduct  in 
accepting  a  large  price  for  his  and  retiring  temporarily  to 


226  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Beverly  for  the  winter.  It  had  been  a  family  humiliation, 
of  course,  this  forced  acknowledgment  that  her  respected 
brother's  expenses  had  outrun  his  income.  But  what  else 
was  there  for  one  with  Chippendale  standards  to  do  ?  She 
could  sympathize  if  she  could  not  exonerate  him  from  ex 
travagance.  There  was  so  much  more  elaboration  in  liv 
ing,  and  the  temptation  was  constantly  present  to  try  to 
do  for  one's  children  as  much  as  other  people  were  doing 
for  theirs.  Her  sister-in-law  had  been  possessed  from  their 
dancing-school  days  with  a  nervous  fear  lest  her  daughters 
should  become  old  maids.  Counting  her  own  two,  there 
were  still  five  unmarried  marriageable  girls  of  Chippendale 
stock,  which  was,  of  course,  when  viewed  dispassionately, 
rather  appalling.  But  Professor  Paton  was  certainly  very 
attentive  to  her  own  Barbara.  Mrs.  Sumner  hoped  there 
might  be  something  in  this,  for  their  tastes  were  similar 
and  an  engagement  would  be  likely  to  dissipate  the  some 
what  morbid  tendencies  of  her  daughter.  That  is,  Barbara 
was  tormented  by  over-conscientiousness  in  petty  matters, 
For  instance,  if  she  claimed  that  the  ball  was  on.  the  line 
at  tennis,  she  was  haunted  by  the  fear  that  she  had  been 
inaccurate;  and  she  was  constantly  correcting  her  decisions 
of  this  sort  or  else  worrying  over  them,  which  was  trying 
to  her  own  and  other  people's  nerves.  But  though  Mrs. 
Sumner  believed  that  it  would  correct  itself  in  time,  and 
that  it  was  indicative  of  character,  she  hoped  that  Pro 
fessor  Paton  would  propose  soon. 

For  three  years  now  Harrison  and  his  family  had  been 
spending  the  winter  at  Beverly — a  sort  of  Spartan  exile. 
By  means  of  putting  a  furnace  into  the  house,  they  had 
managed  to  live  sufficiently  comfortably.  He  had  been  true 
to  his  principles  as  a  Chippendale,  and  what  had  been  the 
result  ?  The  girls  had  been  constantly  invited  to  stay  with 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  227 

friends  in  town  during  the  dancing  season.  Moreover, 
Georgy  had  been  as  much  of  a  belle  as  ever;  two  or  three 
young  men  were  said  to  be  anxious  to  marry  her.  Strangely 
enough,  too,  though  Harrison  had  felt  obliged  to  part  with 
his  Commonwealth  Avenue  house,  he  had  recently  seen  fit 
to  refuse  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  the 
place  on  the  North  Shore — those  dozen  acres  well  wooded, 
yet  commanding  the  sea,  which  he  had  bought  for  less  than 
a  fifth  of  the  sum  twenty-five  years  before.  And  people 
who  ought  to  know  were  confident  it  would  become  even 
more  valuable.  Certainly  the  chances  of  real  life  were  con 
stantly  proving  stranger  than  any  fiction.  Finally  Chaun- 
ceyhad  made  what  might  fairly  be  termed  a  brilliant  match. 
The  Langdons  were  people  of  character  as  well  as  people  of 
substance.  The  moral  of  these  reflections  Mrs.  Sumner 
imparted  to  Henry  as  she  left  the  house. 

"One  can  truly  say,  still,  that  it  makes  no  difference  in 
Boston  whether  people  have  money  or  not.  Provided  they 
have  position  and  are  acceptable  in  themselves,  no  one 
asks  the  question.  Your  Aunt  Margaret  and  I  may  not 
be  entirely  in  accord  as  to  methods  of  education — as  to 
what  is  best  worth  striving  for  in  life — but  she  has  a 
right  to  be  gratified — indeed,  we  all  have,  Henry — that 
the  reduction  in  their  father's  income  and  the  publicity 
resulting  from  the  sale  of  their  house  has  not  affected  in 
the  slightest  degree  the  social  standing  of  your  cousins. 
But  though  the  changes  which  have  taken  place  in  Boston 
since  I  was  a  girl  are  simply  amazing  from  the  point  of 
view  of  an  older  generation,  it  is  comforting  to  be  able  to 
feel  that  whatever  its  shortcomings,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  names  of  more  than  one-half  of  the  people  who 
have  bought  houses  on  this  street  mean  absolutely  nothing 
to  me" — at  the  moment  they  were  crossing  Commonwealth 


228  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Avenue  by  way  of  Dartmouth  Street — "Boston  is  not  a 
plutocratic  city.  Something  continues  to  count  here  besides 
mere  money.  The  sight  of  your  Uncle  Harrison's  house 
reminds  me,  Henry,  to  ask  if  what  I  heard  yesterday  is 
true,  that  the  people  who  bought  it — the  Blaisdells — have 
bought  the  one  adjoining  in  order  to  have  a  music  room. 
That  they  are  going  abroad  for  the  summer  and  that  the 
two  houses  are  to  be  thrown  into  one  while  they're  away  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  true.  The  deed  has  passed.  Money 
doesn't  seem  to  count  with  them,  does  it?" 

"Especially  as  they  remodelled  and  redecorated  the 
house  from  top  to  bottom  before  moving  in  less  than  two 
years  ago.  It  suggests  a  restless  spirit.  Don't  suppose 
that  I  do  not  realize,  dear  boy,  that  it  will  be  a  constant 
fight  to  preserve  the  traditions.  You  in  your  way  and 
Chauncey  in  his.  There's  no  reason  why  Boston,  because 
it  is  becoming  a  big  city,  should  cease  to  be  a  discriminat 
ing  one." 

"No  one  will  ever  discriminate  against  Chauncey." 

Mrs.  Sumner,  though  puzzled,  was  too  discerning  a 
woman  to  murmur,  "why  should  it  ever  occur  to  any  one 
to  discriminate  against  Chauncey?"  She  divined  that  her 
son  must  be  indulging  in  hyperbole,  and  a  moment's  re 
flection  caused  her  to  reply,  "Nor  against  either  of  you. 
In  the  event  that  discrimination  becomes  necessary,  you 
both  will  be  among  those  whose  duty  it  will  be  to  practise 
it — he  in  his  way  and  you  in  yours,  as  I  just  remarked. 
The  proportions  of  that  building  grow  upon  me,"  she 
added,  stopping  to  shade  her  eyes  and  gaze  critically  at 
the  recently  completed  Public  Library.  "I  have  definitely 
decided  that  it  is  not  too  low.  Do  you  object,  dear,  to  drop 
in  at  Sagasaki's  before  we  go  to  see  the  new  Rembrandt  ?  I 
must  select  a  wedding  present  for  Marian  Eckley  this  week." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  229 

Taking  for  granted  that  Henry  would  acquiesce  in  her 
proposal,  Mrs.  Sumner  turned  the  corner  and  proceeded 
along  Boylston  Street.  She  walked  with  stately  but  un 
assuming  leisureliness,  as  if  proud  of  doing  the  things 
incumbent  on  her  as  a  cultivated  Bostonian  in  the  com 
pany  of  her  only  son.  Her  bonnet  had  receded  a  little 
from  her  brow  as  if  not  securely  fastened,  and  her  black 
mantle  edged  with  jet  was  old-fashioned  in  its  style 
and  had  the  effect  of  having  been  put  on  hurriedly.  Yet, 
though  another  woman  in  the  same  attire  might  have 
looked  dowdy,  her  air  was  one  of  distinction.  At  a  gentle 
angle  over  her  shoulder  she  carried  a  large  fringed  parasol 
of  antiquated  pattern. 

"What  I  meant  is  that  Chauncey  is  like  a  cat;  throw 
him  off  the  roof  of  a  ten-story  building  and  he  will  light  on 
kis  feet,"  answered  Henry.  "He  is  adaptive;  he  knows 
the  art  of  putting  himself  in  harmony  with— reconciling 
himself  to  existing  conditions  without — er— losing  his  self- 
respect.  I  quite  agree  with  you,  mother;  he  has  done 
splendidly.  He  is  in  touch  with  the  new  order  of  things, 
and  is,  consequently,  in  the  position  to  do  exactly  what 
you  wish  him  to  do  in  the  way  of  discrimination." 

"I  wish  him  to  do?"  asked  Mrs.  Sumner,  laughing  ner 
vously.  She  put  her  hand  in  her  son's  arm  and  drew  him 
toward  her  exclaiming:  "As  if  I  were  comparing  Chaun 
cey  to  you!  Don't  you  realize  that  I  am  thankful  you  are 
different  from  Chauncey?  Chauncey  is  a  Chippendale, 
but  he  is  also  a  Baxter,  and  more  especially  a  Floyd. 
Whereas  you,  I  am  proud  to  be  able  to  boast,  are  an  un 
adulterated  Chippendale,  to  say  nothing  of  being  your 
father's  son.  Oh,  yes,  I  know,  dear— Chauncey  compro 
mises  and  you  never  can.  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise 
with  you.  But  granting  this— 


230  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"It's  odious  of  me  to  seem  to  suggest  that  sort  of  a  com 
parison.  What  I  had  in  mind  was  that  I  don't  think  you 
appreciate  how  rapidly  the  old  order  is  passing  away;  and 
that  when  a  person  doesn't  change — won't  change,  he 
ceases  to  be  effective.  That's  my  case,  and  that's  why  I 
said  no  one  would  ever  discriminate  against  Chauncey; 
for  he  belongs  to  the  old  and  yet  is  able  to  keep  step  with  the 
new.  He  can  be  a  real  power  in  Boston  if  he  chooses  to  be." 

"In  deciding  what  may  and  what  may  not  be  done  in 
society  ?  From  that  point  of  view  I  agree  that  he  is  in  a 
position  to  be  listened  to  rather  than  you.  Our  branch  of 
the  family  has  never  gone  in  for  precisely  that  sort  of  thing, 
whereas  your  Uncle  Harrison  always  has — and  your  Aunt 
Margaret  even  more  so.  My  interests — and  consequently 
yours,  have  been  first  of  all,  intellectual;  and  yet  at  the 
same  time,  it  is  absolutely  important  that  some  one  should, 
do  it — stand  on  guard,  I  mean;  see  that  people  who  would 
force  lower  standards  upon  us  are  not  allowed  to  make 
undue  headway  socially.  And  to  tell  the  truth,  Henry" 
— but  here  Mrs.  Sumner  paused,  arrested  by  something 
which  had  attracted  her  eye  in  a  shop  window.  "Brass 
andirons!"  she  soliloquized.  "Why  wouldn't  brass  and 
irons  be  just  the  thing?"  For  a  moment  she  stood  spell 
bound,  yet  irresolute.  Then  the  happy  look  faded,  and, 
shaking  her  head,  she  murmured  with  a  sigh,  "It's  so  late 
I'm  afraid  she  has  some.  There's  been  a  run  on  andirons. 
What  I  started  to  say,"  she  continued  as  she  resumed  her 
walk,  "was  that  when  I  used  the  word  'discriminating'  in 
connection  with  you  and  Chauncey  just  now  I  did  have 
something  particular  in  mind.  Mrs.  Staunton  Townsend, 
while  calling  yesterday,  told  me  in  confidence  that  the  com 
mittee  had  voted  not  to  invite  the  Blaisdells — the  people 
who  bought  your  Uncle  Harrison's  house — to  the  Puritan 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  231 

balls  next  year.    The  wife  is  considered  pushing.    I  hear 
that  she  wrote  to  Mrs.  Percy  Weston,  who  is  managing  the 
Wednesday  afternoon  dancing  class  this  year,  that  she 
would  like  to  put  down  her  eight-year-old  daughter's  name 
for  two  years  hence.    Naturally  Mrs.  Weston  wrote  in  re 
ply  that  by  that  time  somebody  else  would  be  getting  up 
the  class.    This  is  gossip— and  you  know  I  hate  gossip, 
Henry.    At  the  same  time  it's  a  straw,  and  does  suggest 
they're  pushing— just  as  buying  the  adjoining  house  does 
suggest  they're  restless.     And,  as  Mrs.  Townsend  said, 
why  should  we  open  our  drawing-rooms  to  people  merely 
because  they  entertain  lavishly  and  are  anxious  to  enter 
them?    Yes,  dear,  you  are  right,  the  old  order  is  passing 
away  in  the  sense  that  the  old  families  in  society— the 
people  I  knew  as  a  girl — are  in  the  minority  to-day  in  the 
proportion  of  two  to  one.    And  yet  this  remains  signifi 
cantly  true  about  Boston — I  trust  it  will  always  continue 
to  be  true — that  once  in,  confessedly  in,  a  family  remains 
so  to  the  end.     Barring  a  murder  or  financial  irregular 
ities,  of  course,  the  members  may  live  as  unostentatiously 
as  they  please,  bury  themselves  indefinitely,  dress  unfash- 
ionably,  and  yet  be  sure  of  a  welcome  when  they  do  emerge. 
The  year  Lily  came  out  I  had  not  been  to  a  Puritan 
ball  for  fifteen  years;   yet  I  was  accused  of  being  the  belle 
of  the  occasion.    And  there  was  a  scintilla  of  truth  in  the 
statement."    Whereupon,  with  a  smile  of  self-respecting 
gaiety  evoked  by  this  recollection,  Mrs.  Sumner  entered 
Sagasaki's  and,  advancing  slowly,  bent  her  gaze  on  the 
array  of  Japanese  bric-a-brac — screens,   vases,  dragons, 
elephants — exposed  for  sale. 

"I  heard  one  of  my  contemporaries  referred  to  the  other 
day  as  dowdy — a  woman  whose  mind  is  so  absorbed  by  the 
higher  responsibilities  of  life  that  she  is  liable  to  neglect  her 


232  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

personal  appearance,"  she  continued.  "I  admit  it  is  a 
blemish;  and— and  I  dare  say  there  are  those  among  the 
younger  generation  who  would  make  the  same  charge 
about  your  mother."  As  she  spoke,  she  deftly  pulled  her 
bonnet  forward  and  tightened  the  ribbons.  "How  is  one, 
Henry  dear,  to  feel  sure  that  these  things  are  genuine?" 
she  asked,  holding  up  a  delicately  suffused  vase.  "The 
color  is  exquisite— but  is  it  real  peach-blow?  Marian 
Eckley  would  never  know,  but— one  hates  to  be  imposed 
on.  The  dreadful  thought  sometimes  assails  one  that, 
artistically,  Boston  is  brimming  over  with  fabrications. 
How  much  is  this?"  she  inquired  of  the  salesman. 

The  price  asked  was  not  exorbitant  and  the  gesticulating 
salesman  was  emphatic  as  to  the  authenticity  of  the  color 
ing  process.  But  Mrs.  Sumner's  mind  hung  fire.  Then  a 
happy  thought  occurred  to  her.  "I  will  come  in  again  in 
a  day  or  two,"  she  said,  restoring  the  vase  to  its  position. 
But  she  whispered  in  Henry's  ear  as  they  passed  out  of  the 
store,  "I  will  write  a  line  to  Mr.  Moore  of  the  Art  Museum 
and  get  him  to  step  in  and  pass  on  it.  It  would  be  on  his 
way,  for  he  comes  across  the  Public  Garden  every  morn 
ing.  And  then  we  shall  be  certain." 

"But  the  point  I  was  leading  up  to,"  she  resumed  as 
they  retraced  their  steps  along  Boylston  Street  with  the 
purpose  of  visiting  the  new  Rembrandt,  "is  that  we  who 
have  the  power — or  can  have  it — cannot  afford  to  let  down 
the  bars  too  freely  at  the  call  of  every  newcomer." 

"I  heartily  agree  with  you,  mother,  in  the  sense  in  which 
I  assume  that  you  mean  it." 

"In  no  narrow,  snobbish  sense,  of  course.  For  re 
member,  society  is  one  vast  whole.  Nothing  can  affect 
it  injuriously  at  one  point  without  being  felt  through 
out.  And,  as  human  nature  is  constituted,  the  favorite 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  233 

line  of  attack  of  those  who  would  consciously  or  uncon 
sciously  vulgarize  it,  is  through  ceaseless  endeavors  to 
make  social  headway.  There  are  junctures  when,  if  one 
had  not  relations  to  do  it  for  one,  it  might  become  one's 
individual  duty  to  'emerge.'  You  remember  your  Dante: 
*  For  sitting  upon  down  or  under  quilt  one  cometh  not  to 
fame.'"  (But  Mrs.  Sumner  quoted  the  Italian — "  Seg- 
gendo  in  piuma  in  fama  non  si  vien  ne  sotto  coltre.") 
"  There's  where  Chauncey  and  Chauncey's  wife  may  be 
useful.  But  there  is  one  matter,  Henry,  in  which  I  should 
like  your  active  personal  cooperation.  Is  it  possible — or 
put  it  this  way — I  should  be  immensely  pleased  to  do 
something  socially  for  your  friend  Priscilla  Avery,  if,  by 
so  doing,  I  should  not  seem  to  be  opening  my  arms  to 
the  entire  family." 

Mrs.  Sumner  had  led  up  to  the  subject.  It  was  not  a 
tabooed  topic — a  neglected  one,  rather.  Neglected  by 
Henry — and  his  silence  had  been  respected,  especially 
since  her  casual  tentative  mention  of  her  name  had  failed 
to  elicit  any  further  confidences.  With  the  earlier  passages 
in  his  courtship  Mrs.  Sumner  had  long  been  familiar.  Her 
daughters  had  promptly  heard  from  their  cousins  of  the 
passionate  avowal  made  at  the  Commonwealth  Avenue 
house  of  his  intention  to  ask  the  girl  to  marry  him — infor 
mation  which,  at  the  moment,  had  filled  her  with  dismay. 
Not  long  after — it  was  during  one  of  their  afternoon  walks 
—he  had  spoken  briefly  and  she  had  gathered  from  his 
words  that  he  had  been  rebuffed  and  was  miserable. 
While  her  heart  bled  for  him,  immediate  balm  was  pro 
vided  by  secret  satisfaction  that  he  had  not,  while  virtu 
ally  a  boy,  engaged  himself  to  some  one  outside  their  cir 
cle.  Presently  it  had  come  over  her  that  he  had  abstained 
from  pressing  his  suit  out  of  consideration  for  her  and  the 


234  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

girls,  and  she  had  endeavored  by  her  tenderness  to  let  him 
perceive  that  she  understood. 

It  had  chanced  that  until  Priscilla  went  to  live  with  Miss 
Georgiana  she  had  never  seen  her— the  girl  who  would 
have  refused  her  son  if  he  had  asked  her;  for  this  was  the 
way,  Henry  had  insisted,  that  the  incident  should  be  left 
in  her  mind.  Beforehand,  Mrs.  Sumner's  private  belief 
had  been  that,  if  the  young  woman  had  actually  been  given 
the  chance,  Henry  would  not  have  escaped.  But  the  first 
sight  of  her  had  been  rather  dazing.  To  begin  with,  she 
was  surprised  at  the  existence,  in  Boston,  unknown  to 
her,  of  so  handsome  and  aristocratic  looking  a  girl.  Hen 
ry's  taste  was  vindicated;  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  a 
person  of  neither  the  handkerchief  box  nor  the  untidy  blue 
stocking  variety,  as  she  had  dreaded.  But  granting  the 
attractive  personality— and  as  an  idealist,  Mrs.  Sumner, 
though  bewildered,  admitted  it— there  was  presumably 
a  flaw.  She  had  instinctively  bent  her  critical  faculties 
on  discovering  it.  Her  sister's  companion  possessed  dis 
tinction  and  beauty;  her  voice  was  neither  nasal  nor  high- 
pitched;  what  she  uttered  was  spirited  and  intelligent:  but 
—but  (the  illuminating  phrase  came  to  her  in  a  flash) — 
did  not  the  girl  lack  intellectual  modesty?  Yes,  this  was 
certainly  it;  she  was  too  self-confident,  too  exuberantly 
positive  that  she  was  right;  in  short,  forth-putting— a 
dreadful  word  in  Mrs.  Sumner's  vocabulary.  And  along 
the  lines  of  this  discovery — though  overt  behavior  was 
temporarily  lacking— it  was  not  far  to  reach  the  conclu 
sion  that  she  was  the  kind  of  girl  who,  when  alone  with 
young  men,  would  encourage  them  to  address  her  by  her 
Christian  name  on  brief  acquaintance  and  play  fast  and 
loose  with  the  established  conventions  on  the  plea  that 
they  promoted  social  stiffness. 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  235 

Mrs.  Sumner  had  shuddered  at  the  thought.  It  had 
been  a  source  of  constant  self-congratulation  that  her  own 
daughters  had  been  guarded  from  the  microbe  of  informal 
ity,  which,  in  her  opinion,  was  turning  so  many  of  the  girls 
of  the  rising  generation  into  mere  boys — unromantic,  ath 
letic  "good  fellows." 

The  impression  which  she  thus  derived  at  the  outset  had 
served  to  confirm  her  maternal  idea  that  Henry  had  had 
a  fortunate  escape;  and  though  she  was  not  blind  to  Miss 
Avery's  surface  attractions,  she  had  chosen  to  think  of  the 
affair  as  a  boy  and  girl  episode  which  had  blown  over. 
Did  not  all  the  outward  indications  point  to  this  ?  What 
she  hoped  was  that  they  might  become  merely  capital 
friends.  With  sentiment  eliminated,  Priscilla's  rose- 
colored,  if  too  positive,  views  would  provide  an  excellent 
foil  to  Henry's  relentless  tendencies.  So  she  had  let  mat 
ters  drift.  But  Henry  had  seemed  to  avoid  the  topic. 

She  had  begun  to  suspect  the  truth — that  he  did  care 
—some  time  before  the  success  of  Electric  Coke  pre 
sented  Priscilla  in  the  new  light  of  an  heiress.  Money  of 
course  was  money;  but  Mrs.  Sumner  did  not  need  or  seek 
to  exonerate  herself  from  the  imputation  of  sordid  motives 
because  of  regarding  her  sister's  companion  with  fresh  in 
terest.  The  interesting  thing  to  her  was  not  the  possession, 
but  the  opportunity.  What  use  would  Priscilla  make  of  all 
this  wealth  ?  Mrs.  Sumner  had  at  times  pictured  herself  as 
inordinately  rich  and  indulged  in  the  spiritual  luxury  of 
a  series  of  chimerical  splendid  donations.  And  now,  here 
was  a  girl  on  the  threshold  of  life,  the  only  daughter  of  a 
man  who  had  suddenly  acquired  a  huge  fortune,  who 
could  do  just  that  if  she  saw  fit — build  a  new  dormitory  for 
women  under  the  shadow  of  Harvard  College,  buy  an  ex 
pensive  old  master  for  the  Art  Museum.  And  with  this 


236  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

girl  her  only  son  was  in  love— she  would  never  believe 
hopelessly.  Naturally  she  regarded  her  with  a  new  eye. 
But  as  for  the  money  itself— it  would  inevitably  be  a  for 
midable  barrier  to  Henry.  As  his  mother  she  divined  this 
the  moment  she  heard  that  Priscilla  had  become  an  heir- 
tess.  She  realized  the  mental  plight  in  which  he  must  be 
assuming  that  he  had  never,  in  so  many  words,  asked  her 
to  marry  him  before  her  father  had  acquired  his  fortune. 
Up  to  the  time  when  the  girl  had  given  unmistakable  signs 
that  she  was  not  going  to  fritter  her  life  and  money  away 
on  mere  pleasureable  excitements— was,  in  short,  keenly 
alive  to  her  opportunity,  Mrs.  Sumner  had  regarded  this 
new  barrier  with  equanimity.  But  one  motive  for  leading 
up  to  the  subject  on  this  afternoon  was  that  she  might 
make  sure  that  Henry  was  not  eating  his  heart  out  in  con 
sequence  of  deeming  it  unsurmountable.  Another  was  be 
cause  she  genuinely  desired  to  do  something  by  way  of 
letting  her  son  perceive  that  she  had  revised  her  first  esti 
mate  of  the  woman  he  would  like  to  marry.  In  this  con 
nection  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  her  to  be  able  to  feel  that 
some  time  before  she  had  ever  heard  of  Electric  Coke  she 
had  begun  to  be  drawn  toward  Miss  Avery  and  to  recon 
cile  herself  to  the  possibility  of  having  her  for  a  daughter- 
in-law. 

Henry  was  silent  for  a  moment,  following  his  mother's 
proposal,  then  he  replied:  "Do  you  think  she  needs  us? 
I'm  sure  she  is  not  conscious  of  the  need." 

Mrs.  Sumner,  misinterpreting  this  lukewarm  reception, 
said  eagerly,  "I  am  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  tell  you, 
dear  boy,  that  your  Priscilla  has  won  me  over  completely." 
Thereupon  she  smiled  benignly  at  her  son. 

Henry  returned  her  smile.  "I  am  glad,  of  course,  that 
you  have  ceased  to  disapprove  of  her.  What  I  meant, 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  237 

though,  mother,  had  nothing  to  do  with  that.  As  I  said  a 
few  minutes  ago,  I  don't  think  you  realize  how  little  we  of 
the  old  order  really  count." 

"  But  surely—"  Mrs.  Sumner  paused.  She  wished  to  be 
circumspect,  for  she  knew  that  Henry  still  harbored  idio 
syncrasies.  "For  instance,  I  made  Mrs.  Townsend  prom 
ise  to  send  her  a  card  for  the  Puritan  balls." 

"That  was  considerate  of  you,  but  I  doubt  if  Miss 
Avery  will  be  alive  to  the  greatness  of  the  honor." 

Mrs.  Sumner  was  silent  for  a  moment  in  her  turn. 
"Then  some  one  should  enlighten  her.  She  will  be  a  dis 
tinct  addition ;  for,  besides  being  ornamental,  it  is  evident 
that  she  intends  to  stand  for  something— to  identify  her 
self  with  social  progress.  Her  idea  of  a  club  which  should 
not  condemn  everything  at  the  start  was  an  inspiration, 
half  truth  though  it  was.  And  so  we — I,  at  least,  desire  to 
recognize  the  fact." 

"I  give  you  carte-blanche,  mother.  But,"  he  added, 
"how  can  you  expect  her  to  desert  her  friends  for  ours?" 

Mrs.  Sumner  had  evidently  anticipated  this  objection, 
for  she  answered  promptly,  "Her  father  is  an  elderly  man. 
He  would  scarcely  expect  to  be  invited  at  this  period  of  his 
life  for  the  first  time,  especially  as  her  step-mother  knows 
nobody." 

"And  her  step-sister  is  to  be  deliberately  excluded." 

"Merely  not  invited.  That  is  the  decision  of  the  com 
mittee,  not  mine.  But  have  I  not  heard  you  constantly 
inveigh  against  the  husband  as  an  evil  force  in  the  com 
munity—all  the  more  dangerous  because  he  seems  to  pos 
sess  unusual  ability?" 

"That  is  my  opinion  still.  But  Miss  Avery  does  not 
agree  with  me.  She  admires  everything  her  brother-in-law 
does;  has  complete  confidence  in  him.  She  is  certain  to 


238  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

side  with  them,  and  to  feel  that  their  friends  are  good 
enough  for  her.  They  will  be  invited  to  plenty  of  balls 
and  dinner-parties." 

"Ah,  but  they  will  not  be  the  same,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Sumner.  "I  was  merely  trying  to  help  her — for  your  sake. 
Tell  me,  Henry — you  speak  of  her  formally  as  Miss  Avery 
— are  you  at  odds  ?  Have  you  given  up  the  idea  of  marry 
ing  her  ?  I  do  not  wish  to  probe." 

"  No,  mother;  I  love  her  more  than  ever." 

"Have  you  asked  her  recently?" 

"There  are  certain  things  of  which  one  is  sure  without 
asking.  I  haven't  a  chance  of  succeeding — at  present. 
I  am  only  too  well  aware  of  the  fact." 

Mrs.  Sumner  shook  her  head.  "I  believe  you  are  too 
modest.  You  have  a  great  deal  to  offer  a  girl  like  Miss 
Avery — position,  character,  intelligence,  no  bad  habits." 

"A  Boston  certificate  of  excellence.  It  does  not  happen 
to  appeal  to  her.  She  yearns  for  something  racier." 

"Yearns?    Racier?    I  do  not  understand  you,  Henry." 

"She  is  haunted  by  the  ideal  of  some  one  less  cut  and 
dried,  less  critically  cold-blooded,  less  highly  moral.  Seri 
ously,  mother" — he  stopped  short  at  the  street  crossing 
facing  the  Art  Museum — "maternal  prepossessions  elim 
inated,  what  is  there  about  me  to  attract  a  high-spirited, 
girl  with  half  a  million  to  spend  ?" 

"Less  highly  moral?"  Then  instantly  recognizing  that 
there  was  a  surface  truth  in  the  accusation,  she  asserted 
quietly:  " She  ought  to  know  you  better  by  this  time.  As 
to  the  money,  Henry,  you  wished  to  marry  her  before  she 
had  a  penny.  So  it  would  be  Utopian — yes,  wrong,  to  let 
that  separate  you.  As  for  high  spirit — you  possess  the 
best  spirit  of  all — public  spirit;  the  willingness  to  stand  up 
and  fight  for  what  you  believe  true  and  just  and  honorable 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  239 

in  the  teeth  of  easy-going  conventional  opposition.  That  is 
the  part  of  a  real  Chippendale— and  a  Sumner.  I  do  not 
like  to  praise  you  to  your  face,  but  really,  my  son,  your 
morbid  point  of  view  compels  it." 

"  Miss  Avery  does  not  see  me  with  your  eyes,  mother." 

"They  are  the  eyes  of  the  public." 

"Let  us  assume  that  she  is  prejudiced  against  me.     I 
think  she  is  a  little.    So  much  the  worse  for  me." 

"Then  what  do  you  intend  to  do?" 

"To  wait — to  trust  to  time.  To  play  the  part  of  the 
persevering  Boston  man  in  the  hope  that  some  day- 
There  was  no  need  of  supplying  the  elipsis;  and  Mor 
gan  Drake's  phrase  which  rose  to  his  lips— "she  will  fall 
into  my  arms  with  a  dull,  sickening  thud"— would  inevi 
tably  appear  grotesque  to  his  mother,  who  was  apt  to  com 
plain  that  the  phraseology  of  the  rising  generation  was 
lacking  in  reverence.  "But  we  must  not  patronize  her," 
he  hastened  to  add. 

"I  surely  have  no  wish  to  do  that.  But  if  there  is  any 
way  in  which  you  think  I  can  help,  you  must  not  wait  for 
me  to  divine  it."  Mrs.  Sumner  had  ascertained  the  prin 
cipal  point  which  she  wished  to  know— that  he  was  still 
absorbed  in  Priscilla,  and  she  was  not  disposed  to  take 
umbrage  because  he  saw  fit  to  distort  her  intentions.  The 
important  thing  was  to  leave  off  where  he  could  resume  his 
confidences  hereafter  with  no  sense  of  constraint. 

On  Saturdays  and  Sundays  admission  to  the  Art  Mus 
eum  is  free;  on  the  other  days  an  entrance  fee  is  charged, 
except  to  the  holders  of  season  tickets— the  certificate  of 
an  annual  subscription  of  ten  dollars.  Mrs.  Sumner  had 
been  an  annual  subscriber  from  the  outset,  and  she  had  so 
thoroughly  inoculated  her  children  with  her  own  loyalty 
that  each  of  them  regarded  this  claim  on  the  purse  as 


240  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

paramount  to  all  minor  charities.  They  fastidiously  but 
correctly  argued  that  the  less  discerning— the  many- 
would  give  to  hospital,  animal  rescue  and  pure  milk  funds 
in  preference  to  this  great  educational  cause. 

The  door-keeper  knew  them  well;  it  was  never  necessary 
to  produce  their  tickets.  But  this  was  Saturday — a  free 
day — and  as  they  reached  the  narrow  turnstile,  a  party  of 
Italian  laborers  with  their  picturesque  women  had  just 
preceded  them.  Mrs.  Sumner  smiled  significantly  at  Henry 
as  she  relinquished  her  parasol  to  the  custodian.  To  be 
able  to  witness  the  proletariat  taking  advantage  of  the 
opportunities  for  culture  was  the  great  compensation  for 
not  inspecting  the  new  Rembrandt  in  stillness  and  isola 
tion,  as  was  their  preference  when  passing  judgment  on  a 
new  work  of  art.  Mrs.  Sumner  could  never  forbear  to 
make  a  short  tour  of  the  cast  rooms  on  the  ground  floor 
before  ascending  the  staircase.  She  liked  to  refresh  her 
mythological  memory  and  to  be  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  life-size  reproductions  of  the  great  classical  and  Egyp 
tian  masterpieces.  As  she  paused  in  front  of  Rameses 
the  Second  she  put  into  words  the  thought  which  had  been 
harassing  her  since  her  entrance. 

"Why  is  it  that  our  native  working-people  do  not  come 
here  of  their  own  free  will — from  a  genuine  love  of  it — like 
the  foreigners  ?  Shall  we  ever  produce  great  art  until  our 
masses  kindle  with  the  instinct  for  beautiful  things?  I 
hate  to  confess  it,  Henry — but  there  are  moments  when  I 
wonder  if  that  day  will  ever  come,  and  I  ask  myself  whether 
a  nation  which  is  artistically  barren — whose  art  has  to  be 
forced  down  its  throat  like  medicine — can  be  truly  great." 

As  she  turned  for  the  sympathy  which  she  expected— 
yet  desiring  to  be  contradicted  and  to  be  assured  that  the 
attendance  was  more  universal  than  she  feared — she  no- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  241 

ticed  that  Henry's  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  doorway  as  if  it 
were  following  some  one  whom  he  knew. 

"Who  was  that?  Remember  that  I  wish  to  see  Mr. 
Moore." 

"It  was  not  he,  mother.  I  suppose  the  answer  is"-  -  he 
spoke  a  little  like  one  who  felt  suddenly  impelled  to  stand 
up  for  his  country — "that  we  cannot  expect  to  live  down  the 
Puritan  lack  of  imagination  in  a  single  century.  Besides, 
is  not  great  art  wont  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  great  pros 
perity?  As  a  nation  we  have  been  comparatively  poor 
until  the  last  thirty  years.  Now  that  a  Macaenas  is  be 
coming  possible  in  every  city,  we  may  have  great  masters." 

Mrs.  Sumner  shook  her  head  doubtfully.  "The  Puri 
tans  had  imagination — think  of  the  '  Scarlet  Letter.'  And 
it  required  imagination  for  those  marvellous  inventions— 
the  cotton  gin,  the  sewing-machine,  the  telephone — yes, 
even  for  our  superior  plumbing.  But  art" — she  sighed  as 
she  spoke — "art  is  different.  We  must  try  to  be  grateful, 
I  suppose,  for  our  past,  for  our  Stuarts  and  our  Copleys, 
and  hope  for  the  best.  It  may  not  be  too  soon  even  to  hold 
our  breath  and  think  of  both  Sargent  and  St.  Gaudens  as 
geniuses.  But  what  you  said  reminds  me;  Mrs.  Townsend 
also  stated  that  the  name  of  the  anonymous  donor  of  the 
new  Rembrandt  has  leaked  out;  it  is  Mr.  Blaisdell." 

"We  might  have  guessed  so.  And  he  has  made  George 
Burton  the  fashion  by  buying  two  of  his  pictures.  Then 
it  was  she,"  he  added  to  himself. 

They  had  completed  their  survey  of  the  cast  rooms  as 
they  talked  and  were  now  on  the  large  staircase.  As  she 
finished  her  speech,  Mrs.  Sumner  paused  reverently,  as 
one  might  stop  at  a  shrine,  to  look  up  at  the  (headless) 
Winged  Samothracean  Victory  which  seemed  to  hover 
superbly  above  them.  Then  they  passed  on  to  the  gal- 


242  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

leries,  lingering  for  a  moment  to  glance  appreciatively  at  this 
or  that  favorite,  and  yet  pursuing  a  definite  course  toward 
their  goal.  Mrs.  Sumner  never  beheld  without  disfavor 
the  vast  canvas  by  Copley  which  depicts  a  huge  shark 
turning  on  its  side  in  the  act  of  seizing  a  boy.  Her  aesthetic 
sensibilities  were  offended  both  by  its  bulk  and  by  its 
theme.  On  this  occasion,  as  was  her  habit,  she  sailed  by, 
looking  straight  before  her,  although  the  group  of  Italians 
which  she  had  previously  noticed  was  studying  the  picture 
attentively.  In  a  few  moments  more  she  and  Henry  were 
standing  before  the  new  Rembrandt.  It  was  the  portrait 
of  a  full-faced  Dutch  burgher  with  deep-set  eyes  and  dew 
lap  cheeks  and  a  slight  curl  to  his  mustaches  which  gave 
almost  an  air  of  sprightliness  to  his  otherwise  strictly  com 
mercial  countenance. 

There  were  several  other  people  in  the  room,  but,  fortu 
nately  for  their  purpose,  no  one  else  was  before  the  picture 
at  the  moment,  so  that  they  had  the  satisfaction  of  gazing 
at  it  unreservedly  in  complete  silence.  Mrs.  Sumner  was 
the  first  to  break  this. 

"It's  an  original;  I  suppose  there  can  be  no  doubt  of 
that.  That's  one  comfort.  The  face  looks  out  at  us  as  if 
it  would  speak — and  after  all  these  years.  One  can't  deny 
that  it's  fine — technically,  very  fine." 

"  It's  superb,"  said  Henry.  He  was  surprised  at  his  own 
vehemence,  which  he  was  already  conscious  was  partly  the 
result  of  a  determination  not  to  discover  defects  if  possible. 

"Yes,  artistically,  it's  satisfying,"  Mrs.  Sumner  answered 
slowly,  "but  ethically  I  feel  a  lack.  Compare  a  face  like 
that  with  Emerson's,  for  instance.  It  is  deficient  in  soul. 
I  ask  the  question — I  admit  that  it  is  debatable — can  any 
work  of  art  be  considered  great — satisfying  in  the  highest 
sense — into  which  the  spiritual  quality  does  not  enter?" 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  243 

"Ah,  mother,  mother,  I  was  trying  to  stifle  the  same 
thought.  We  seem  fated  to  be  eternally  searching  for  the 
moral  in  whatever  we  see  and  hear." 

The  agitation  in  Henry's  voice  aroused  his  serene  moth 
er's  wonder.  She  stared  at  him,  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  he  was  over-wrought;  but  before  she  could  speak  and 
point  out  that  such  a  vision  had  its  compensations,  they 
both  became  aware  that  they  were  no  longer  alone.  A 
graceful,  animated  young  woman  was  smiling  on  them— 
a  young  woman  whose  brisk,  gracious  approach  seemed 
unmistakably  modern  to  Mrs.  Sumner,  yet  affected  her 
pleasantly  like  a  west  wind,  and  in  whom  at  a  second 
glance,  she  recognized  her  son's  Priscilla — Priscilla 
arrayed  in  all  the  faultless  witchery  of  the  latest  fashion. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  new  Rembrandt?  This  is 
my  second  visit.  I  promised  my  brother-in-law  to  tell  him 
this  time  if  I  am  satisfied  with  the  frame.  He  thinks  it 
should  be  more  ornamental." 

Mrs.  Sumner  raised  her  lorgnette  on  its  flowing  chain. 
"I  had  not  observed  the  frame.  It  is  very  well,  I  think. 
As  to  the  portrait,  we  were  admiring  it — but  Henry  more 
than  I.  I  am  transcendental  enough  to  feel  the  need  of 
an  ethical  quality  to  awaken  my  enthusiasm.  It  is  life-like, 
undeniably,  but  when  we  stop  to  think,  what  an  essentially 
stolid  countenance." 

"But  they  were  like  that" — responded  Priscilla — "just 
like  that,  stolid,  fat,  unimpressionable,  if  you  will.  There's 
the  marvellous  skill — the  power  to  fix  those  very  qualities 
so  that  the  canvas  seems  about  to  breathe." 

Mrs.  Sumner  nodded.  "I  admit  all  that;  nor  do  I 
deny  that  the  art  is  consummate — of  its  kind.  They  were 
like  that.  But,"  she  added  in  her  gentle  voice,  "they 
ought  not  to  have  been." 


244  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Priscilla  listened  in  amazement.  The  disparaging  words 
which  fell  like  trickling  water  on  her  enthusiasm  were 
such  a  surprise  that  her  first  impulse  was  toward  mirth. 
Yet  in  the  next  breath  she  realized  that  it  had  been  damp 
ened.  Then  as  she  looked  again  at  the  portrait  with  the 
eyes  of  one  conscious  of  having  received  a  quiet  rebuke, 
she  understood  in  a  flash  the  point  of  view — wonderful  as 
it  still  appeared  to  her.  Stranger  still,  she  found  herself 
for  a  moment  under  the  spell  of  it — the  mild  but  relentless 
seeking  for  perfection  of  this  faded  but  stately  lady — his 
mother.  His  mother — and  how  exactly  like  him!  There 
was  the  source — the  fountain-head  of  his  censorious  spirit. 
Yet  with  this  distinction:  the  quality  which  in  him  had 
always  tended  to  arouse  her  antagonism  appeared  in  the 
other  a  subtle  grace,  like  old  lace  or  china — the  savor  of 
a  soul  naively  true  to  itself.  Instinctively  she  looked  from 
mother  to  son,  comparing  them. 

"And  is  that  the  impression  the  portrait  produces  on 
you,  Mr.  Sumner?"  she  asked,  as  one  in  a  reverie. 

Henry  noticed  the  absence  of  contradiction  from  her 
voice.  Addressed  to  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  donor,  must 
not  his  mother's  criticism  seem  bald,  almost  ungracious  ? 
Yet  when  he  looked  Priscilla  in  the  eye,  he  forbore  to  shirk 
the  truth,  though  he  flushed  at  the  necessity. 

"There's  no  use  in  my  pretending;  I'm  just  the  same. 
That's  the  thing  we  look  for — demand — the  symbol,  the 
ethical  meaning.  We're  made  that  way;  it's  a  limitation, 
I  suppose.  It  makes  us  too  blind  to  the  technical  beauties. 
We  fail  to  bestow  due  emphasis  of  praise  on  the  painter's 
gift." 

For  the  first  time  in  her  experience  Priscilla  thought  him 
humble.  Instead  of  interrupting  she  waited  for  him  to  go 
on. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  245 

"You  approach  a  picture  like  this  in  an  entirely  different 
spirit— I  know  you  well  enough  for  that,  Miss  Avery. 
You  don't  knit  your  brows  searching  for  the  things — eter 
nal  verities— which  are  not  there.  You  rejoice  in  what  you 
actually  behold— the  superb  color,  the  masterly  delinea 
tion,  the  convincing  reproduction  of  a  picturesque  past. 
You  sympathize  with  the  dead  artist— are  grateful  for- 
envy  him.  Unlike  my  mother  and  me,  you  do  not  turn 
your  microscope  upon  his  soul  and  judge  him  pitilessly  by 
its  shortcomings.  But  we— we  cannot  help  it." 

It  was  the  light  of  interest,  the  lack  of  scorn  in  her  ex 
pression  which  encouraged  him  to  set  forth  the  antithesis 
and  led  him  to  a  genial  close.  As  he  finished  he  turned 
playfully  toward  his  mother,  inviting  corroboration. 

Gratified  as  she  was  that  he  had  remained  faithful  to  his 
ideals,  Mrs.  Sumner  instinctively  shrank  from  the  sem 
blance  of  exaggeration. 

"Microscopes?  If  you  are  not  careful,  Henry,  you  will 
give  Miss  Avery  the  impression  that  we  approach  art 
merely  from  the  standpoint  of  entomologists." 

Priscilla  shook  her  head.  "  I  have  been  virtually  a  Bos- 
tonian  all  my  life— but  I  think  I  may  be  just  beginning  to 
understand  what  that  really  means." 

Mrs.  Sumner  looked  relieved  and  appreciative, 
means  so  many  different  things,  my  dear."  She  paused 
a  moment.  "May  I  not,"  she  added,  "call  you  Priscilla? 
We  have  met  so  frequently  at  my  sister's— you  are  such  an 
old  friend  of  my  son's,  and— and  I  have  observed  that  you 
are  interesting  yourself  in  the  things  in  which  we  are  inter 
ested." 

"I  wish  you  would,  Mrs.  Sumner."  Priscilla  spoke  ra 
diantly,  notwithstanding  her  sense  of  humor  told  her  that 
she  was  being  admitted  to  Boston's  inner  circle  and  that  it 


246  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

was  her  duty  to  regard  this  as  a  complimentary  and  precious 
privilege.  Then  she  turned  on  Henry  a  glance  made  up  of 
triumph  and  raillery.  She  would  fain  have  swept  him  a 
low  courtesy. 

Their  eyes  met.  It  was  revealed  to  both  of  them  that, 
through  this  delightful  intermediary,  they  had  suddenly  for 
the  first  time  in  their  intercourse  reached  a  footing  of  ami 
ability,  or  at  least  of  mutual  forbearance. 

"And  perhaps,  Mr.  Sumner,  the  eternal  verities  demand 
a  certain  type  of  frame." 

The  gaiety  of  her  smile  disarmed  her  satire.  But  before 
he  could  answer,  the  pleased  yet  tense  ejaculation  of  Mrs. 
Sumner  revealed  the  presence  of  Mr.  Moore  of  the  Mus 
eum  staff,  an  inscrutable  looking  young  man  with  a  short 
blonde  beard,  who  had  approached  them  unperceived. 

"Why,  Mr.  Moore,  you  are  just  the  person  I  was  hop 
ing  to  see.  To  begin  with — assuming  that  it  is  a  Rem 
brandt,  and  I  suppose,  of  course,  it  is — I  wish  to  hear  your 
candid  opinion  of  its  merits." 

In  another  moment  the  two  were  absorbed  in  contem 
plation  of  the  portrait — Mr.  Moore  with  wrinkled  brow 
and  his  head  a  little  on  one  side,  she  gazing  wistfully  and 
searchingly  through  her  lorgnette — so  that  the  others 
found  themselves  apart. 

"  I  would  leave  the  frame  as  it  is.  To  be  able  to  make  a 
royal  gift  like  this  must  be  an  immense  pleasure,"  said 
Henry,  moved  to  cater  to  the  satisfaction  which  he  felt 
sure  she  must  be  experiencing  from  the  knowledge  that 
BJaisdell  was  the  generous  donor. 

"I  was  in  the  secret.  My  brother-in-law  confided  in 
me.  It  cost — ever  so  much.  Yes,  it  must  be  an  immense 
pleasure.  I  used  to  think  that  money — a  lot  of  it — didn't 
matter  much;  that  one  could  be  just  as  happy  on  very 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  247 

little.  So  one  can,  of  course.  But,  as  you  suggest,  it  must 
add  enormously  to  the  enjoyment  of  life  to  be  able  to  en 
rich  a  place  like  this — to  see  one  of  the  treasures  of  the 
world,  ask  the  price  and  say,  'I'll  take  it,'  just  as  if  it  were 
a  spool  of  thread  or  a  skein  of  sewing-silk.  It  must  be 
entrancing." 

Her  dark  eyes  sparkled  under  the  spell  of  her  vision. 
She  looked  about  her  as  if  desiring  to  re-examine  her  sur 
roundings.  "What  an  interesting  place  this  itl  I  must 
come  here  oftener.  I  ought  to  know  every  corner  of  it,  but 
things  have  changed  since  I  was  an  art  student — and  dis 
covered  that  I  was  not  a  genius.  It  was  a  bitter  discovery, 
but  I  did  discover  it  in  time.  And  now"—  (obviously  it 
was  her  theme  that  interested  her,  but,  poor  worm  though 
he  might  be,  it  seemed  a  triumph  to  Henry  that  she  no 
longer  glowered  at  him) — "perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  help 
a  little;  contribute  my  share  toward  buying  beautiful 
things  for  the  Museum.  I  dare  say  you  know  that  my 
father's  invention  has  proved  a  great  success;  that  we  are 
no  longer  poor."  She  made  the  announcement  with  frank 
simplicity. 

"Every  one  has  heard  of  Electric  Coke." 

"  Yet  I  was  one  of  the  last  persons  to  believe  in  it.  That 
was  a  bitter  discovery,  too — to  find  that  I  had  been  so  slow 
in  realizing  that  my  father  was  a  genius.  Now  we  are  to 
have  a  new  house.  I  am  to  live  with  them — it  was  all  de 
cided  yesterday — on  Commonwealth  Avenue,  not  far  from 
Lora's.  So  I  seemed  fated  to  go  back,  if  only  to  make 
some  amends  as  a  dutiful  daughter  for  having  failed  to 
appreciate  him." 

Could  he  believe  his  ears?  She  was  looking  brightly 
straight  at  him — yes,  this  was  clearly  personal — as  if  to 
enjoin  upon  him  not  to  fail  to  notice  her  confession  of  f alii- 


248  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

bility.  Evidently  it  had  been  dwelt  upon  for  his  special 
benefit.  Then  Henry  heard  her  say : 

"It  was  very  nice  of  your  mother  to  suggest  calling  me 
by  my  Christian  name." 

Was  not  this  a  veritable  peace  offering?  Nay,  more. 
Rather  a  goblet  brimming  with  happiness  suddenly  held 
out  for  him  to  quaff  by  the  living  presence  of  the  angel  of 
his  earthly  hopes.  With  trembling  hands — for  his  awk 
wardness  was  not  proof  against  such  a  delicious  surprise 
—Henry  was  in  the  act  of  raising  it  to  his  lips  when  sud 
denly  it  was  ruthlessly  snatched  away  and  only  the  echo 
of  her  mirth  was  left.  For  this  was  what  she  demurely 
added : 

"Was  it  not  a  sort  of  reward  for  being  interested  in  the 
things  in  which  she  is  interested?" 

Henry  flushed  and  glanced  instinctively  at  his  mother. 
Plainly  she  was  not  listening;  but  was  still  engrossed  by 
Mr.  Moore  and  the  immediate  burning  question  of  the 
new  Rembrandt.  The  taunt  was  audacious,  the  taunt  was 
pitiless;  but  it  was  arch  and  not  disdainful.  The  living 
presence  of  the  angel  of  his  earthly  hopes  was  smiling  at 
him,  but  not  in  scorn.  His  first  thought  was  one  of  grati 
tude  that  his  mother  had  not  overheard — for  she  would 
never  have  understood;  his  second  one  of  satisfaction 
that,  though  badly  upset,  he  did  understand,  and  that  for 
once  in  his  social  career  he  was  about  to  prove  adequate 
to  the  occasion. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  think  it  was,  Miss  Avery,"  he 
answered. 

"I  felt  sure  of  it." 

Her  manifest  enjoyment  was  a  rich  reward  for  his  pene 
tration — his  bold  capacity  to  take  a  joke,  though  it  might 
be  akin  to  laughing  in  church.  Henry  felt  like  a  knight 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  249 

who  has  at  last  won  his  spurs.  Yet  he  hastened  to 
assert : 

"But  my  mother  admires  you  immensely — that  was  the 
real  reason.  She  admires  you  and — er — she  approves  of 
you;  and  my  mother's  approval  is  not  easy  to  win."  He 
felt  it  incumbent  on  him  to  vindicate  the  maternal  dignity, 
even  though  his  ladylove  should  make  light  of  the  sincere 
compliment. 

This  time  Priscilla  did  sweep  him  a  courtesy,  but  it  simply 
was  gracious. 

"  Easier  to  win  than  her  son's,  however." 

"You  know " 

The  syncope  of  confusion  cut  off  Henry's  protesting 
thought,  so  that  she  had  time  to  spare  herself  and  him. 
She  felt  that  the  time  had  come  to  go,  and  she  had  been 
made  aware  by  the  movement  of  Mrs.  Sumner's  lorgnette 
that  the  latter  had  detected  the  courtesy  and  been  subcon 
sciously  reminded  of  her  presence. 

"It  will  be  difficult  to  convince  me  of  that.  There  are 
certain  convictions  of  mine — my  most  cherished  ones— 
which  remain  unaltered.  Yes,  I  must  be  going.  Let  me 
slip  away  so  as  not  to  interrupt  Mrs.  Sumner's  argument." 

Henry's  eager  impulse  was  to  accompany  her.  Again 
he  glanced  at  his  mother — piteously  this  time,  for  he  al 
ready  realized  that  he  could  not  go.  It  had  been  his  sister 
on  the  other  occasion;  for  there  was  just  enough  parallel 
in  the  situation  to  recall  the  hideous  past.  Somehow  his 
duty  to  his  relations  was  perpetually  blocking  the  pathway 
of  his  romantic  affections.  He  flushed  at  the  suspicion 
that  Priscilla  remembered.  Did  not  her  saucy,  splendid 
mien  indicate  that  she  was  rejoicing  in  his  plight,  and  pass 
ing  judgment  on  him  again  because  he  lingered?  But 
what  could  he  do  ? 


250  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

Then  suddenly  to  his  relief,  and  yet  to  his  infinite  em 
barrassment  she  declared,  "Of  course  you  cannot  desert 
your  mother."  To  have  his  secret  thoughts  plucked  out 
and  exultantly,  roguishly  exhibited  was  mortifying  and 
likewise  paralyzing  to  the  faculties.  But,  though  there 
was  a  twinkle  in  her  eye,  at  least  she  exonerated  him.  So 
much  was  clear  to  his  agitated  vision ;  consequently  he  was 
spurred  to  exclaim,  to  forestall  the  possibility  of  the  slight 
est  doubt : 

"But  you  surely  realize  that  I  would  much  prefer  to  go 
with  you." 

The  platitude — emphasizing  his  conscientious  reluctance 
to  leave  anything  to  the  imagination — was  one  of  those 
dire  speeches  which  Priscilla  had  learned  to  expect.  She 
was  dimly  aware  that  she  had  become  hardened  to  them  in 
that  she  had  ceased  to  jump  away  as  from  an  electric 
shock.  But  she  was  moved  to  shake  her  head  resolutely, 
willing  that  he  should  be  left  in  doubt  by  this  dumb  show 
whether  she  was  not  secretly  displeased  by  his  filial  con 
duct.  She  intended  thereby  also  to  reiterate  the  adaman 
tine  conviction  which  she  had  just  uttered,  that  she  could 
never  hope  to  win  his  approbation.  Continuing,  she  said 
explicitly : 

"We  have  disagreed  again,  as  usual,  about  the  picture. 
Though,  as  you  remarked,"  she  added  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "it  seems  this  time  to  be  your  misfortune  rather 
than  your  fault." 

This  qualification  of  a  statement  designed  to  inform  him 
plainly  that  he  was  not  to  deduce  from  her  milder  manner 
and  her  self-reproach  anything  but  wholesale  discourage 
ment  of  any  starveling  personal  hope  seemed  to  her  emi 
nently  harmless — a  sort  of  laying  on  destiny  the  blame 
which  she  had  hitherto  ascribed  to  more  deliberate  proc- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  251 

esses.  He  was  welcome  to  derive  heart  comfort  from  it  if 
he  could.  Accordingly  she  felt  justified  in  showing  her 
amiability  again  to  the  extent  of  saying : 

"So,  if  you  choose,  you  may  come  and  see  me — at 
the  new  house.  But  we  don't  move  in  for  two  months 
yet." 

Was  not  this  the  refinement  of  cruelty  ?  Such  was  Pris- 
cilla's  not  altogether  mournful  reflection  after  she  had 
fixed  the  postponement,  the  need  of  which  had  come  to  her 
as  an  afterthought.  As  she  looked  at  Henry,  he  reminded 
her  of  a  hungry — yes,  a  faithful  and  well-meaning — dog 
on  his  hind  legs,  watching  for  scraps  which  she  dangled 
before  his  nose,  and  just  when  he  thought  one  of  them 
was  his,  jerked  away.  She  felt  almost  like  stroking  him. 
But  if  she  were  to  do  so,  would  he  not  be  certain  to  bite 
her  in  his  clumsy  efforts  to  lick  her  hand  ? 

The  simile  amused  Priscilla  by  its  aptness.  Evidently 
she  had  puzzled  him  so  completely  by  her  alternate  meth 
ods  that  he  was  absorbed  in  studying  her  lips.  She  had 
meant  to  go  at  once,  and  yet  now  that  she  dallied,  she  re- 
remembered  that  there  was  something  at  the  back  of  her 
mind  which  she  had  intended  to  say.  She  would  say  it 
now — whatever  construction  he  might  choose  to  put  on  her 
words. 

She  hesitated  a  moment  before  beginning — which  was 
unusual  with  her.  "I'm  really  going — but  it  may  edify 
you,  Mr.  Sumner,  to  hear  one  thing  more.  Your  mother 
was  right;  somehow  or  other — I  don't  know  how — I  have 
become  interested  in  the  things  in  which  she  is  interested. 
For  instance,  I  might,  under  my  new  circumstances,  have 
chosen  to  travel  abroad  indefinitely,  be  a  brilliant  social 
success,  or  marry  a  foreign  title — do  all  sorts  of  interesting 
things."  She  spoke  a  little  airily  as  if  illustrations  were  as 


252  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

plenty  as  blackberries.  "  But  .what  do  you  think  ?  Instead; 
I  am  about  to  settle  down  to  a  humdrum  life  as  a  confirmed 
Bostonian,  the  scope  of  which  must  sooner  or  later  include 
the  Associated  Charities — the  protection  of  the  Common 
— and — er — a  tomb  at  Mt.  Auburn.  In  short,  I  am  inter 
ested  in  local  monuments — these  and  others.  There's  an 
other  confession — admission — whatever  you  choose  to 
call  it,  Mr.  Sumner." 

Priscilla  paused  in  her  vagary,  for  this  was  all  she  had 
intended  to  say.  Yet  uttered  it  seemed  to  demand  some 
justification  of  a  kind  adapted  to  confound  the  bewildered 
yet  manifestly  gratified  approval  of  the  faithful  dog. 
"This  being  the  case,  it  appears  to  me  highly  probable — 
inevitable,  in  fact — that  our  ideas  concerning  these  sacred 
institutions — I  agree  with  you  that  they  are  sacred — will 
clash.  We  have  never  agreed  yet.  I  intend — yes,  I  intend 
to  dispute  with  you  the  control  of  these  symbols  of  power 
in  the  hope  that  the  New  England  conscience  may  be 
eliminated  from  the  face  of  the  earth." 

She  was  gone.  Even  the  faultless  swirl  of  her  retreating 
skirt  suggested  energy  and  grace.  It  was  his  mother's 
voice  which  recalled  the  triumphant  yet  nonplussed 
Henry  to  himself. 

"She  is  a  sweet  girl  and  charmingly  dressed,  but  what 
was  that  she  said  about  the  New  England  conscience? 
It  is  the  fashion  to  disparage  it — as  if  there  were  much 
left  nowadays.  But  if  the  •  pendulum  swings  much 
further  toward  general  tolerance  of  everything  under 
the  sun,  we  shall  be  wishing  some  of  the  old  intolerance 
back." 

"It  was  merely  that  she  was  a  little  irritated  at  finding 
that  she  has  one  herself,"  answered  Henry  with  pensive 
delight.  Presently,  while  he  and  Mrs.  Sumner  retraced 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  253 

their  steps  through  the  galleries  he  joyfully  chanted  to 
himself  these  lines  from  his  favorite  Emerson : 

"Heartily  know 
When  half-Gods  go 
The  Gods  arrive." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

His  wife's  remark  that  he  had  discarded  the  ambition 
to  become  President  often  recurred  to  Blaisdell.  Was  it 
not  just  like  the  shrewd  little  woman  to  discern  it  ?  In  the 
lexicon  of  youth  this  had  been  his  text — the  crowning  pos 
sibility  of  a  successful  career,  dazzling  but  not  beyond  the 
reach  of  his  capabilities.  Now  he  could  contemplate  the 
high  office  without  blinking. 

This  did  not  mean  that  he  would  not  accept  the  position 
if  it  were  offered  to  him.  Any  patriotic  American  would, 
of  course.  Politically,  it  was  the  highest  position  on  earth. 
But  it  never  would  be  offered  to  him  for  the  excellent  reason 
that,  on  arriving  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  he  had  delib 
erately  chosen  between  that  leading  to  the  White  House 
and  one  which  led  to  something  better.  He  had  no  ambi 
tion  to  be  President  just  as  analogously  he  would  positively 
decline  to  be  Mayor  of  Boston,  or  to  fill  any  office  in  the 
gift  of  the  people.  The  power  which  he  was  on  the  high 
road  to  attain  was  much  more  complete,  much  more  subtle, 
and,  popular  cant  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  much 
more  enviable. 

There  had  been  a  time,  of  course,  when  public  office 
was  the  great  avenue  to  fame  and  usefulness  as  an  Ameri 
can.  He  knew  himself  still  to  be  second  to  none  in  his 


254  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

political  enthusiasm — in  his  fervent  belief  that  the  insti 
tutions  of  his  native  country  were  tending  to  produce  a 
higher  type  of  civilization  than  any  which  had  hitherto 
existed;  and  incidentally  anew  and  superior  type  of  rulers. 
Human  society  which  had  been  governed  successively  by 
dorni  gods,  emperors,  priests,  doges,  warriors  and  constitu 
tional  statesmen  was  now  under  the  sway  of  the  money 
market,  a  current  euphemism  which  to  the  initiated  was 
a  patent  of  nobility  eighteen  carat  fine. 

To  the  initiated,  for  not  every  one  was  shrewd  enough  to 
recognize  this,  and  more  who,  through  prejudice  or  what 
they  termed  principle,  refused  to  open  their  eyes  to  it.  Al 
though  the  clergy  and  the  demagogues  still  comforted  the 
mass  with  the  delusion  that  humble  means  was  a  blessing 
both  as  a  life  estate  and  as  a  future  spiritual  asset,  was 
not  the  secret  desire  of  every  level-headed  man  in  the 
United  States  to  make  a  fortune?  In  whom  did  the 
public  evince  a  keener  interest,  though  they  might  seek 
to  disguise  it  by  newspaper  abuse,  than  in  the  few  who, 
by  superior  intelligence,  had  managed  to  accumulate 
many  millions  in  a  lifetime?  These  were  the  un 
crowned  kings — the  legitimate,  lineal  product  of  un 
trammelled  democracy.  The  money  power  had  come  to 
its  own  at  last,  no  longer  to  be  robbed  and  brow-beaten  by 
priests  or  by  princes,  no  longer  to  be  sneered  at  with  im 
punity  by  inferior  types  of  brain.  "A  nation  of  shop 
keepers"  had  ceased  to  be  a  term  of  opprobrium.  Out  of 
the  retail  store  had  grown  the  partnership;  out  of  the  part 
nership  the  emporium;  out  of  the  emporium,  the  corpora 
tion  with  branches  stretching  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
r.u  ilk-;  and  thcnre  had  sprung,  through  the  fertile  imag 
ination  of  this  Qr  that  master  mind,  those  various  combina 
tions  of  capital  which,  either  in  the  form  of  trusts  or  of  indi- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  255 

vidual  proprietorship,  had  revolutionized  in  a  single  gen 
eration  the  financial  methods  of  the  world. 

Read  along  the  printed  page  this  may  sound  metallic 
even  against  the  sounding-board  of  democracy.  But 
spoken  with  the  confident  good  humor  and  clear-headed 
enthusiasm  of  which  Blaisdell  was  capable,  it  lost  the  ring 
of  mere  materialism — for  he  not  only  had  a  winning 
way,  but  had  thought  things  out,  and  had  reassuring 
answers  for  those  in  search  of  ideals.  For  instance, 
against  those  who  believed  in  socialism — the  elimination 
of  competition  from  human  affairs— the  taunt  might  well 
be  brought  that  the  imagination  was  liable  to  be  starved  in 
the  model  tenement  of  dead-level  mediocrity.  The  tastes 
of  the  modern  ruler  were  not  to  be  ascetic  or  humdrum, 
but  adapted  to  preserve  the  traditions  of  all  previous  aris 
tocracies;  and,  while  cherishing  unswerving  common-sense 
and  fostering  vitality,  to  surpass  them  in  splendor  and 
enlightenment.  Briefly,  democracy  in  the  saddle — Blais 
dell  liked  to  think  of  himself  as  a  self-made  man — was  to  be 
robust,  generous,  hopeful,  enterprising,  slow  to  cavil, 
patriotic  and  far-seeing.  It  was  to  be  clear  cut  and  ener 
getic  in  its  mental  processes,  not  visionary  and  hair 
splitting.  It  was  first  of  all  to  be  healthy-minded.  He 
had  heard  the  phrase  somewhere  and  appropriated  it  as  the 
keynote  of  his  philosophy  of  life.  The  successful  American 
of  the  new  order  was  to  be  a  whole-souled,  pleasant-spoken 
individual,  and  also  a  picturesque  one.  Not  picturesque  in 
his  appearance  necessarily.  His  apparel  was  to  be  sober 
as  formerly — save  for  white  flannel  relaxation  in  summer 
— but  picturesque  in  his  domestic  surroundings.  There 
were  to  be  no  palaces  in  name,  but  more  than  palaces  in 
comfort,  spaciousness  and  magnificence.  And  not  only 
were  his  apartments  to  be  on  a  large  scale  with  plenty  of 


256  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

air  to  breathe  and  a  separate  bath-room  for  everybody — 
the  externals  of  life — but  there  was  to  be  nothing  cramped 
in  his  spiritual  outlook. 

Applying  this  locally — for  all  of  us  in  the  end  obtain 
from  our  environment  the  best  material  for  our  philosophic 
yardsticks — Blaisdell  suddenly  found  himself  in  the  pos 
session  of  definite  convictions  regarding  Boston.  Not 
having  had  time  to  philosophize,  he  had  accepted  Boston 
at  first  as  a  fact  and  made  the  city  serve  his  purpose  without 
inquiring  closely  into  cause  and  effect.  But  now  a  million 
aire  at  thirty-five  he  good-humoredly  deplored  that  Bos 
ton  was  behind  the  times,  that  Boston  was  too  self-conscious, 
and  as  a  result  of  these  failings  that  Boston  sentimentally 
preferred  the  narrow  ruts  worn  by  puritanic  and  provincial 
custom  to  the  macadamized  avenues  of  cosmopolitan 
urbanity.  Moreover,  he  had  every  intention  (he  flattered 
himself  that  he  had  done  much  in  this  direction  already) 
of  trying  to  correct  these  shortcomings.  As  regards  the 
first  of  them,  he  saw  signs  that  the  business  men  were  be 
ginning  to  realize  there  was  danger  the  city  would  be  side 
tracked  and  that,  unless  she  bestirred  herself,  Boston  must 
inevitably  cease  to  be  the  "hub"  of  the  universe  and  end 
by  performing  that  function  for  the  lumbering  vehicle 
familiarly  known  as  an  ice-cart.  To  this  contemporary 
satire  of  the  cheery  kind  he  felt  that  heed  was  being  paid. 
But  the  other  shortcoming — the  narrow  self-consciousness 
— was  more  elusive.  It  was  not  peculiar  to  trade  methods, 
but  was  characteristic  of  everything  which  was  said  and 
done  in  Boston.  In  short,  it  was  a  social  defect,  and  as 
such  to  be  reached  only  by  social  remedies. 

But  here  he  had  a  wife  to  help  him;  a  wife  who  divined 
even  more  shrewdly  than  he  the  deficiencies  and  the 
opportunity.  He  had  ignored  social  life  as  such  from  force 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  257 

of  circumstances,  but  fortunately  she  had  not.  Indis 
putably  a  modern  industrial  magnate  would  be  handi 
capped  by  a  retiring,  hard-featured  or  unsophisticated 
wife.  Lora  did  not  need  to  be  urged;  on  the  contrary,  she 
cleverly  anticipated  his  sumptuous  purposes.  Did  not 
Boston — that  element  which  prided  itself  on  its  exclusive- 
ness  and  aspired  to  set  an  ethical  example  to  the  rest  of  the 
world — still  hang  back  from  large  and  luxurious  social 
effects  as  inconsistent  with  what  it  termed  character? 
Did  it  not  persistently  spoil  its  own  enjoyment,  like  a 
valetudinarian  feeling  his  pulse,  by  remembering  that 
scarcely  more  than  fifty  years  ago  the  Brook  Farm  experi 
ment  was  in  full  operation  as  a  lesson  in  ideal  community 
life?  Consequently  he  was  only  too  ready  to  shock 
these  good  people  and  at  the  same  time  demonstrate  by 
successive  ornate  innovations  that  in  cherishing  their  tepid 
conceptions  of  enjoyment  they  had  missed  and  still  con 
tinued  to  miss  half  the  zest  of  existence.  But  he  wished 
his  manifestations  to  be  free  from  the  slightest  reproach  of 
vulgarity — in  excellent  taste  as  well  as  princely — and  for 
this  he  relied  on  Lora's  intuitions  to  supplement  his  own 
free-handed  impulses.  In  other  words,  he  longed  to  see  a 
new  aristocracy  of  large-hearted  and  spontaneous  emotions 
turn  to  confound  the  strait-laced,  frigid  and  picayune  stand 
ards  of  the  moribund  yet  complacent  society  which  claimed 
the  right  to  examine  his  wife's  credentials. 

After  he  had  acquired  sufficient  breathing  space  by 
knocking  the  two  houses  on  Commonwealth  Avenue  into 
one,  there  was  a  variety  of  other  little  things  to  do — things 
at  which  the  thorough-going  Bostonian  would  look  askance 
until  some  one  set  him  the  example.  To  provide  his  stable 
with  stylish  equipages  and  innumerable  horses,  including 
blooded  stock  for  exhibition  at  fashionable  horse  shows; 


258  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

to  purchase  a  farm  in  the  suburbs  from  which  fresh  vege 
tables,  cream  and  flowers  could  be  forwarded  daily  in 
profusion;  to  engage  a  house  secretary  and  stenographer 
for  his  wife;  to  buy  a  steam  yacht  and  a  share  in  a  salmon 
river;  to  have  both  their  portraits  painted  by  a  foreign 
artist — these  were  a  few  of  what  might  be  called  the  imme 
diate  incidentals.  Although  they  were  merely  what  the 
wealthy  in  foreign  countries  were  accustomed  to  have,  he 
was  conscious  that  people  were  peeping  at  him  from  be 
hind  their  Beacon  Street  houses  and  wondering  what  he 
would  do  next.  This  amused  and  spurred  him  on.  By 
means  of  superintendents — higher  priced  and  more  dis 
cerning  factotums  than  mere  underlings — he  aimed  to  excel 
splendidly  in  everything  he  undertook.  In  a  single  season 
his  horses  captured  nearly  every  blue  ribbon  at  the  local 
competitions,  his  dogs  and  his  roses  took  first  prizes,  and 
his  racing  thirty-footer  won  the  Transatlantic  cup  against 
all  comers. 

On  Sunday  morning  it  was  BlaisdelPs  habit  to  take  an 
account  of  stock,  as  he  termed  it;  ascertain  how  he  stood 
not  merely  in  dollars  and  cents,  but  sociologically.  Occa 
sionally  he  accompanied  Lora  to  the  Episcopal  Church 
(they  owned  one  of  the  most  expensive  pews),  just  to 
show  that  he  approved  of  religion  as  an  institution.  The 
remaining  Sunday  mornings  he  would  pass  in  his  li 
brary,  or,  if  the  weather  were  fine,  in  visiting  his  outly 
ing  greenhouses,  farm  or  stables,  and  cogitate.  He  was 
well  aware  that  the  conservative  latter-day  Bostonian  did 
not  believe  half  of  what  he  heard  at  church  and  went 
mournfully  in  order  to  criticise  the  sermon.  Why  not  have 
the  courage  of  one's  convictions  and  stay  away?  But 
when  he  did  go,  Blaisdell  preferred  a  fervent  spiritual  dis 
course  to  a  moral  lecture.  Religion  was  essential  to  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  259 

masses  and  it  did  no  harm  to  any  man  to  listen  now  and 
then  to  an  eloquent  clergyman.  It  would  not  be  wise  for 
the  modern  magnate  to  proclaim  his  inmost  convictions  on 
religion  any  more  than  it  would  to  state  openly  his  private 
opinion  on  many  subjects.  In  his  secret  soul,  for  instance, 
he  sympathized  heartily  with  the  utterance  of  the  late 
William  H.  Vanderbilt,  "the  public  be  damned";  it 
pleased  him  anew  whenever  he  thought  of  it.  In  his  actual 
dealing  with  reporters,  however,  butter  would  not  melt  in 
his  mouth. 

Similarly,  although  he  knew  the  catchword,  "the  plain 
people,"  to  be  merely  a  synonym  for  certain  political  high 
waymen  waiting  to  be  bribed,  to  say  so  would  bring  the 
whole  legislature  like  a  hornet's  nest  about  his  ears.  An 
indignant  press  would  expostulate,  whitewashing  resolu 
tions  would  be  passed  with  an  apostrophe  to  the  white- 
robed  goddess,  and  what  would  be  the  upshot  ?  Simply 
that  he  would  make  himself  unpopular  and  accomplish 
nothing.  For  what  did  he  employ  a  special  legislative 
clerk  except  to  deal  with  these  gentry?  No,  in  Bos 
ton — as  in  other  American  cities  where  people,  were  busy 
and  had  numerous  axes  to  grind — in  order  to  be  ef 
fective  one  must  speak  pleasantly  or,  at  least,  temper 
ately  of  everybody  and  everything,  and  pat  all  men  genially 
on  the  back  in  the  hope  of  being  patted  in  return.  It  be 
hooved  a  modern  magnate  to  cultivate  an  atmosphere  of 
continuous  social  sunshine.  If  he  were  censorious  or  un 
accommodating,  vital  measures  might  be  held  up  indefi 
nitely  by  the  plain  people  and  great  public  improvements 
be  frustrated.  Therefore,  as  a  large  owner  of  stock  in 
several  Boston  newspapers,  he  approved  of  the  euphe 
mistic  temper  of  the  local  press  from  which  irony  was 
utterly  excluded  as  an  enemy  to  democracy  and  circula- 


260  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

tion.  If  any  one  were  to  purloin  a  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars  in  broad  daylight  on  the  Common,  who  could  justly 
complain  if  it  were  caustically  stigmatized  as  a  "misap 
propriation"?  But  the  more  comfortable,  yes,  Christian 
custom  was  to  avoid  censure  and  to  throw  little  "  bou 
quets"  in  type  at  everybody  on  the  smallest  excuse,  and 
thus  make  all  leading  citizens  happy  at  least  once  a  year 
by  newspaper  titillations. 

These  private  reflections  Blaisdell  kept  to  himself  in  his 
capacity  as  leading  citizen  and  capitalist.  They  appealed 
to  his  sense  of  humor  somewhat  and  yet  only  faintly,  for 
he  had  no  desire  to  be  a  spoil  sport.  Live  and  let  live 
struck  him  as,  on  the  whole,  a  felicitous  motto  for  democ 
racy  to  bear  in  mind,  and  he  desired  that  the  existing  era 
of  good  feeling  should  last  his  lifetime.  Wars — the  great 
enemies  of  magnates — might  not  cease  for  a  century  or 
two,  but  it  was  something  that  every  one  from  the  Mayor 
to  the  saleslady  should  be  joining  hands  in  the  social 
merry-go-round  of  mutual  forbearance  and  accumulation. 
The  only  people  who  annoyed  him  were  those  who  held 
aloof  coldly  and  disdainfully  with  their  noses  in  the  air. 
Whenever  these  people  tried  to  prove  anything — the 
inquiry  invariably  proved  a  fizzle,  and  as  to  their  objec 
tions — they  were  chiefly  moonshine.  Fortunately  (and  yet 
even  up  to  this  point  BlaisdelPs  sense  of  triumph  was 
essentially  amiable)  he  was  now  in  a  position  to  challenge 
those  who  prided  themselves  on  their  superior  philosophy. 
As  a  director  in  more  corporations  of  one  sort  and  another 
than  any  man  in  Boston,  as  the  owner  of  large  blocks  of 
local  securities  organized  under  his  leadership— gas, 
electric  light  and  street  railway  companies — as  the  holder 
of  stock  in  railroads,  mines,  patent  rights  and  manufac 
turing  industries  in  various  parts  of  the  country — he  was 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  261 

zertainly  a  person  to  be  reckoned  with  in  his  native  city. 
Already  he  was,  in  a  commercial  sense,  hand-in-glove 
with  the  large  men  in  New  York  and  Chicago,  and  in  a 
position  to  feel  the  undercurrents  of  high  finance,  while 
the  smaller  fry  were  still  beguiled  by  surface  appearances. 
Barring  some  unforeseen  disaster,  he  would,  at  the  present 
rate  of  increase,  be  a  very  rich  man  at  the  end  of  ten  years, 
without  taking  into  account  Electric  Coke — and  Electric 
Coke  was  an  unqualified  success. 

This  stock  was  selling  at  185  ex  "rights"  worth  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  share.  It  had  proved  itself  a  bonanza  already, 
and  he  was  watching  the  business  closely  in  confident  faith 
that  the  present  price  would  some  day  seem  very  low.  Of 
the  70,000  shares  now  issued,  12,000  stood  in  his  firm's 
name,  which,  with  Mr.  Avery's  16,000  shares,  was  not  far 
short  of  a  controlling  interest.  His  firm's  original  invest 
ment  had  been  5,000  shares.  He  had  added  to  this  by 
quietly  picking  up  stock  in  the  open  market  on  all  reces 
sions  and  by  recent  purchases  of  " rights" — some  of  them 
his  step-father-in-law's — for  it  had  seemed  wise  to  Mr. 
Avery  to  realize  a  portion  of  his  profits  in  this  way  to  pay 
for  his  new  house  and  avoid  having  all  his  eggs  in  one 
basket.  Of  the  other  holders,  Langdon  &  Co.  and  their 
following,  were  by  far  the  largest  and  the  most  tenacious. 
Blaisdell  had  tried  various  ruses  to  induce  them  to  reduce 
their  holdings,  but  rumors  of  patent  litigation  and  rival  dis 
coveries  had  failed  to  dislodge  any  appreciable  amount  of 
their  stock.  Moreover,  his  chief  competitor  in  the  purchase 
of  the  "rights"  lately  on  the  market  had  been  a  broker  on 
the  floor  of  the  exchange  who  sometimes  made  secret  pur 
chases  for  that  firm,  and  Blaisdell  had  been  informed  that 
Chauncey  Chippendale,  whose  wedding  to  General  Lang- 
don's  daughter  had  lately  taken  place,  had  signalized  his  ad- 


262  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

mission  to  partnership  by  announcing  himself  as  a  ram 
pant  "bull  for  a  long  pull  on  Electric  Coke."  To  be  sure, 
the  market  position  of  the  stock  was  much  strengthened 
by  this  rivalry,  but  Blaisdell  was  one  who  looked  askance 
at  disputed  mastery.  If  Electric  Coke  were  going  to  be 
worth  five  hundred  dollars  a  share,  it  was  his  purpose  to 
control  its  finances.  Moreover,  was  it  not  far  more  likely 
to  be  worth  that  price,  if  he  did  ?  But  this  was  a  matter  of 
future  consideration.  For  the  moment  the  current  market 
price  and  his  own  large  ownership  were  the  brightest 
feathers  in  the  cap  of  his  Sunday  morning  cogitations.  To 
conclude,  he  had  been  accorded  several  public  tokens  of 
his  growing  civic  importance.  One  mayor  had  invited  him 
to  become  a  Sinking  Fund  Commissioner,  the  next  had 
requested  him  to  serve  as  one  of  the  trustees  of  the  new 
Public  Library.  Both  of  these  honorable  positions  with 
out  pay  he  had  felt  obliged  to  decline  "on  account  of  the 
magnitude  of  his  other  interests. " 

But  for  the  social  side  he  relied  on  Lora.  One  evening, 
about  a  year  after  they  had  moved  into  their  new  house, 
she  left  the  piano  and  sitting  on  the  arm  of  his  chair 
pressed  down  his  newspaper. 

"  Listen  to  the  calendar  of  an  ambitious  woman :  Janu 
ary,  balls  and  dances.  February,  musicales  and  recep 
tions."  As  she  proceeded,  she  ticked  the  months  off  on 
her  fingers,  pausing  archly  when  temporarily  at  a  loss. 
"March,  Lent  and  dinners.  April,  the  Opera.  May,  the 
Horse  Show  and  the  Dog  Show.  June,  the  Country 
Club  races.  July  and  August,  Europe.  September,  house 
parties.  October,  shopping  and  theatres  in  New  York. 
November,  Thanksgiving  and  dressmakers.  December, 
the  first  ball  of  the  season  and  getting  ready  for  Christ 
mas.  You  see  what's  in  store  for  you,  Hugh.  That's 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  263 

what  is  expected  of  us  now  that  we've  moved  to  town. 
And  you  can't  say  that  I  didn't  warn  you.  I  always  told 
you  that  I  was  socially  ambitious,  and  wished  to  live  on  the 
sunny  side  of  Commonwealth  Avenue." 

"  You  certainly  did.    And  here  we  are." 

Lora  sighed.  "  Oh,  yes.  But  it  may  not  be  quite  so  easy 
as  I  expected;  making  just  the  friends  we  wish,  I  mean." 

Blaisdell  laughed  sceptically.  He  fancied  her  dazzled 
by  her  new  surroundings  and  ascribed  her  passing  melan 
choly  to  the  dread  of  not  being  able  to  compete  with  their 
wealthy  neighbors.  ''Don't  let  that  trouble  you,"  he 
replied.  "  I  know  you're  a  thrifty  little  soul,  and  so  there's 
no  danger  in  saying  to  you,  as  it  might  be  to  some  women, 
if  there's  anything  which  you  think  we  ought  to  have  or 
do — buy  it,  do  it.  Don't  let  money  stand  in  the  way. 
I've  plenty,  I  guess,  for  any  wild  extravagances  you  may 
be  tempted  to  commit  in  Boston.  Don't  stint  yourself, 
little  woman." 

"Thank  you,  Hugh."  She  stooped  and  kissed  his 
broad  forehead,  from  which  the  hair  had  begun  to  recede. 
She  saw  that  he  had  not  divined  her  lurking  doubt, 
but  at  any  rate  he  had  provided  her  with  the  means  of 
convincing  herself  how  groundless  it  had  been.  People 
could  not  help  noticing  her,  for  she  would  attract  their 
attention. 

Lora  had  adhered  faithfully  to  her  calendar.  Any 
deviations  were  in  the  line  of  extra  activity.  After  their 
gorgeous  ball  for  Priscilla,  she  was  thrilled  with  delight  for 
the  time  being  because  so  many  people  came.  Later  she 
found  herself  wondering  why  so  many  others  had  stayed 
away.  She  let  slip  no  opportunity  to  rivet  the  gaze  of  the 
social  world.  Her  toilettes  were  lavishly  exquisite,  her 
jewels  superb.  Theirs  was  the  highest  premium  paid  for 


264  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

seats  at  the  symphony  concerts;  their  season  tickets  for 
the  opera  were  the  most  desirable  in  the  house;  besides 
carrying  all  before  them  in  blue  ribbons  at  the  horse  show, 
her  box  was  the  most  conspicuous  and  consistently  occupied 
of  any;  and  they  arrived  with  a  party  of  friends  on  the 
scene  of  the  Country  Club  races  in  a  new  coach  drawn  by 
four  prancing  prize  animals. 

Meanwhile  their  circle  of  acquaintance  was  constantly 
widening.  Delano,  BlaisdelPs  partner,  was  of  great  assist 
ance  at  first.  Knowing  theatrical  people  was  Delano's 
hobby,  and  what  was  called  polite  society  bored  him.  His 
idea  of  enjoyment  was  to  frequent  the  play,  and,  having 
exchanged  signals  of  recognition  across  the  foot-lights 
with  theatrical  stars,  entertain  them  at  supper  after  the 
curtain  fell.  Mrs.  Delano  humored  her  nervous,  ferret- 
eyed  husband  in  this;  accordingly  their  large  house — 
also  a  new  one — was  a  Sunday  evening  resort  for  actors 
and  actresses  and  for  devotees  and  Bohemian  patrons  of 
all  the  arts. 

"It  was  I  who  started  those  informal  evenings  in  Bos 
ton — Saturdays,  not  Sundays — and  I  was  really  the  one  to 
continue  them."  Such  was  Mrs.  Avery's  plaint  on  her  way 
to  the  first  of  Mrs.  Delano's  evenings  which  she  attended. 
She  had  felt  some  compunctions  on  the  score  of  desecrating 
the  Sabbath,  but  her  son-in-law  had  convinced  her  that  Sun 
day  evenings  in  Boston  were  needlessly  dull.  After  arriv 
ing  she  was  sure  that  she  ought  to  go  home.  But  the  fas 
cination  of  actually  beholding  women  smoke  held  her 
spell-bound.  Her  hostess  has  stolen  her  thunder  with  a 
vengeance.  What  a  wide  departure  from  angel  cake  and 
ice  cream,  from  lemonade  and  beer,  from  anything  one 
happened  to  have  on  (for  the  men),  and  a  simple  toilette  for 
the  women  to  this  Parisian  affair!  Her  stigmatizing  adjec- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  265 

tive  was  solely  because  of  the  few  elegantly  dressed  dare 
devils  in  conscious  attitudes  with  cigarettes  between  their 
lips  or  poised,  advertising  their  freedom.  On  Sunday,  too. 
Mrs.  Avery  could  scarcely  keep  her  eyes  off  them,  and, 
conscious  of  being  red  from  excitement,  she  fanned  herself 
vigorously.  She  believed  herself  a  Bohemian  by  tempera 
ment,  she  was  accustomed  to  a  social  atmosphere  of  smoke, 
but  smoke  emanating  from  one  sex.  What  would  the  Puri 
tan  fathers  say?  This  was  a  mere  involuntary  mental 
ejaculation  while  trying  to  find  her  bearings.  She  was  re 
pelled,  yet  fascinated.  Will  the  coming  American  woman 
smoke  ?  She  had  heard  the  question  recently  debated  at 
her  Woman's  Club  and  decided  confidently  in  the  nega 
tive.  Now  she  was  not  quite  so  sure;  for  was  not  this  an 
up-to-date  house?  She  sighed  and  stole  another  look  at 
two  of  the  most  fashionable  younger  women,  when  sud 
denly  her*  glance  fell  on  Lora — her  little  Lora — in  the  act 
of  puffing  a  cigarette. 

Mrs.  Avery's  impulse  was  to  stride  across  the  room, 
snatch  the  defiling  weed  from  her  daughter's  lips  and 
trample  it  under  foot.  But  how  could  she  ?  Such  a  pro 
ceeding  in  this  company  was  out  of  the  question.  It  would 
undo  them  socially.  She  grew  redder  still  and  plied  her 
fan  assiduously,  trying  to  nerve  herself  for  some  defiant 
action.  When  at  last  they  were  in  the  carriage,  she  cov 
ered  her  face  with  her  white,  gloved  hands,  to  the  peril  of 
her  diamond  sun-burst,  and  began  to  weep. 

"How  could  you,  Lora?" 

"  I  only  smoked  one,  mama.  Besides,  it's  the  thing  to 
do,  if  one  wishes  to  get  on." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  American  women — Bos 
ton  women — are  going  to  justify  smoking?" 

"  If  it  happens  to  suit  them— if  they  feel  like  it.    Just  as 


266  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

they  do  in  Venice  and  Paris  and  London.  Some  will  and 
some  won't.  It  will  be  just  as  the  individual  woman 
chooses.  I  haven't  smoked  for  years;  but  Priscilla  and  I 
tried  it  once  in  Dartmouth  Street  after  you  had  gone  to 
bed,  and  we  both  agreed  that  we  might  take  it  up  some 
day." 

"Thank  heavens,  I'm  old-fashioned.  But  I  shall  never 
get  used  to  it — never." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will,  mama.    Didn't  I  do  it  daintily  ?  " 

Mrs.  Avery's  tears  welled  up  again  at  the  recollection. 
"I  turned  my  head  away — I  couldn't  bear  to  look  at  you* 
But  the  others — the  others  were  odious.  I  do  not  believe, 
Lora,  that  Hugh  will  approve  of  this." 

"  I  shall  tell  him  at  once.  If  I  explain  to  him  that  it  will 
help  me  to  make  friends,  he  won't  care.  Hugh  is  always 
sensible." 

Blaisdell  was  in  New  York  on  business  over  Sunday. 
On  the  evening  of  his  return,  Lora  chose  a  cigarette  from 
the  large  silver  box  on  the  library  table  and  revealed  her 
new  accomplishment.  He  watched  her  with  an  amused 
air — supposing  it  to  be  a  tricksy  experiment  beside  the 
domestic  hearth.  But  she  showed  herself  undismayed 
by  the  smoke  and  jauntily  invited  him  to  tell  her  how  to 
blow  rings.  He,  too,  had  taken  for  granted  that  the 
American  woman — his  mother — his  sister,  if  he  had  one — 
would  never  smoke.  But  he  merely  smiled  at  her  audacity 
and  waited  for  the  delayed  explanation. 

"  So  many  women  do  nowadays.  At  the  Delano's  I  saw 
Mrs.  Homer  Ward,  Mrs.  George  Mayberry  and  several 
others.  So  I  just  thought  I'd  be  in  the  new  fashion." 

At  this  point  Lora  began  to  cough  violently,  for  the  smoke 
had  stuck  in  her  throat.  The  names  which  she  had  men 
tioned  were  those  of  two  women  who  went  everywhere  in 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  267 

Boston.  The  tears  were  in  her  laughing  eyes,  but  she  was 
glad  to  observe,  as  she  struggled  to  recover  her  dignity  as 
a  smoker,  that  her  husband's  judgment  was  suspended. 
She  hastened  to  strengthen  her  argument  by  recalling  his 
own  words. 

"It's  one  of  the  things  I  ought  to  do,  Hugh.  Smart 
women  smoke  in  all  the  capitals  of  Europe.  It's  sociable 
to  do  what  other  women  in  society  are  doing." 

"  Provided  you  like  it."  It  was  of  the  essence  of  healthy 
mindedness  not  to  do  things  unless  one  enjoyed  them. 
But  assuming  a  woman  did  like  it,  presumably  the  modern 
wife  of  a  modern  magnate  should  be  free  to  include  the  mod 
erate  use  of  Turkish  tobacco  in  her  social  outfit.  If  any 
one  had  asked  him  the  question  the  day  before,  he  would 
have  shaken  his  head  decisively,  but  the  personal  equation 
put  the  matter  in  a  new  light. 

"Of  course  I  like  it  well  enough.  And — and  I  like  to 
shock  the  people  who  don't  smoke.  That  coughing  was 
just  an  accident." 

"I  never  in  my  life  saw  a  woman  smoke  before  you 
lighted  that  cigarette;  but  I  am  not  going  to  put  my  foot 
down  and  say  you  shan't,  for  I  can  see  that  it's  just  one  of 
those  things  which  a  fond  husband  must  let  his  wife — his 
emancipated  wife — decide  for  herself.  So  puff  away,  little 
woman,  if  you  enjoy  it,  or  think  you  ought  to  do  it."  But, 
having  issued  this  broad  license,  Blaisdell  suddenly  asked, 
"Does  Priscilla  smoke?" 

Lora  read  into  his  voice  that  he  had  qualified  his  per 
mission  by  a  reference  to  her  step-sister  as  an  arbiter. 

"Priscilla  has  smoked;  I've  seen  her,"  she  exclaimed. 
A  moment  later  she  added  deliberately,  "That  was  years 
ago.  Very  likely  she  wouldn't  now.  But  I  really  don't  see 
what  that  has  to  do  with  my  smoking." 


268  THE   CKIPPEXDALES 

"I  was  merely  wondering,"  answered  Blaisdell.  The 
inquiry  which  had  come  to  him  as  an  after-thought  inter 
ested  him  and  made  him  deaf  to  his  wife's  petulance.  In 
spite  of  his  former  prejudice,  he  realized  that  Lora  looked 
entertainingly  bewitching  as  she  toyed  with  her  cigarette, 
but  that  it  would  not  suit  Priscilla's  style. 

Lora  was  not  long  in  perceiving  that  the  Delanos  did 
not  entertain  the  people  whom  she  most  desired  to  know. 
She  met  there  the  Bohemian,  artistic  world,  and  ultra 
fashionable  women  like  Mrs.  Homer  Ward  and  Mrs. 
George  Mayberry,  who  yearned  for  social  variety  and 
dropped  in  now  and  then  for  an  hour  or  so  in  order  to  be 
diverted  on  Sunday.  She  said  one  evening  at  Mrs.  Dela 
no's  to  Morgan  Drake  out  of  a  clear  sky:  " Why  is  it  that 
the  other  people  don't  come  here?" 

Morgan  was  not  phased  by  the  ambiguity  of  the  term, 
but  answered  promptly: 

"Meaning  thereby  the  highly  respectable,  eminently 
hide-bound,  elegantly  correct  element  of  society?" 

"I  suppose  so.  Any  of  the  Chippendale  connection— or 
the  Langdons — or  Mrs.  Staunton  Townsend,  for  instance." 

"I  doubt  if  Mrs.  Delano  knows  them  to  begin  with." 
Perhaps  Morgan  divined  what  was  working  in  her  mind. 

"  Why  shouldn't  she  know  them  ?  I'm  certain  she  told 
me  that  she  had  sent  Henry  Sumner  and  his  sisters 
cards." 

"I  saw  Henry  here  last  week.  I  nearly  fell  over  back 
ward  at  the  sight  until  I  divined  that  he  was  on  a  still  hunt 
for  your  sister,  who  didn't  appear." 

"Priscilla  took  it  into  her  head  not  to  go  last  Sunday 
because  she  didn't  choose  to  meet  Freda.  It  wasn't  neces 
sary  to  be  introduced  to  her.  Besides,  no  one  knows  any 
thing  definite." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  269 

"You  are  almost  as  pathetic  as  Mrs.  Delano,  who  assured 
me  that  all  the  stories  in  circulation  were  absolutely  false. 
And  why,  forsooth  ?  Because  Freda  had  told  her  so  her 
self." 

Lora  pouted  at  him  prettily  over  her  lace  fan.  "I  sup 
pose  that's  intended  as  a  hint  to  me;  and  means  that  you 
side  with  Priscilla." 

"I  was  simply  endeavoring  to  answer  your  conundrum 
about  the  other  people.  Can  you  imagine  for  one  minute 
that  when  Henry  reports  to  his  mother  who  were  here  and 
what  he  saw,  either  of  his  sisters  would  be  allowed  to 
come  ?  You  can  scarcely  expect  conservative  Beacon  Hill 
to  swallow  all  its  prejudices  at  one  gulp  in  a  single  gener 
ation—strict  observance  of  Sunday  evening,  smoking  by 
women,  gambling  at  cards  and  sensitiveness  in  polite  society 
as  to  the  morals  of  the  sex  which  should  be  above  suspicion. 
As  for  Mrs.  Harrison  Chippendale,  I  doubt  if  she  ever  heard 
of  Mrs.  Delano's  existence;  and  none  of  her  children  visit 
the  houses  of  people  she  has  never  heard  of." 

"  All  of  which  goes  to  prove— as  Hugh  constantly  says— 
that  Boston  is  about  fifty  years  behind  the  times." 

Morgan  gave  her  one  of  his  quizzical  looks  with  his  head 
on  one  side.  "Yes— and  I'm  inclined  to  think  it  always 
will  be.  I  dare  say  that's  Boston's  salvation." 

"But  the  world  is  such  a  small  place  now.  The  ocean 
cable  and  the  ocean  greyhound  and  the  telephone  and— er 
—the  big  fortunes  are  everywhere  rapidly  rooting  out 
mere  provincialisms." 

Morgan  recognized  the  source  of  this  ringing  aphorism 
and  his  sardonic  tendency  got  the  upper  hand  of  his  desire 
to  be  tactfully  suggestive  to  his  groping  friend. 

"All  things  are  possible,  it  seems,  to  Electric  Coke." 
As  he  spoke  his  glance  took  in  for  the  first  time  his  com- 


270  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

panion's  magnificent  jewels — a  double  necklace  of  pearls 
and  two  diamond  stars. 

Lora  knew  that  he  was  indulging  in  irony,  but  she  looked 
pleased.  "I  do  wish  Hugh  had  put  you  into  it  at  the 
start,"  she  cried  with  genuine  commiseration.  "If  only 
you  would  write  that  Christmas  story!  Hugh  could  use 
the  right  sort  of  one  as  an  advertisement  in  his  business — 
in  Electric  Coke,  very  likely — and  you  would  sell  thou 
sands  and  thousands  of  copies." 

"So  he  has  told  me.  Some  day  I  shall  be  frightfully 
hard  up  and  get  round  to  it." 

Lora  gazed  at  him  meditatively.  "You  are  a  funny 
person."  After  a  moment  she  added:  "I  saw  you  talking 
to  Freda  yourself." 

"I  am  a  man — an  adaptive,  inconsistent  man." 

"  Of  course  you  are  inconsistent.  I  thought  you  would 
say  that  you  were  studying  her  for  a  novel.  Why  shouldn't 
the  highly  civilized  woman  do  whatever  the  highly  civilized 
man  does?  That  is  the  subject  of  the  next  debate  at 
mama's  Woman's  Club.  Do  you  disapprove  of  my 
smoking?" 

"Some  highly  civilized  women  do  smoke.  Answer  me 
a  question  in  turn.  Are  you  trying  to  get  into  Boston 
society?" 

Lora  shuffled  her  fan.  "If  you  weren't  an  old  play 
mate,  you  wouldn't  dare  to  ask  such  a  peculiar  question." 

"Perfectly  true.  But  I  am  an  old  playmate — and  fond 
of  you." 

"Well,  then,  of  course  I  am.  There  are  a  number  of 
women  in  society — here  this  evening — who  do  smoke." 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  understand.  When  one  is  in  society 
in  Boston,  one  is  in  for  all  time.  But,  as  you  just  remarked, 
Boston  is  behind  the  times;  the  difficult  thing  is  to  get  in." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  271 

"Even  for  Electric  Coke,"  flashed  Lora. 

"  Since  you  have  said  it,  even  for  Electric  Coke.  Mere 
multi-millions  are  an  entering  wedge,  but  up  to  date  I  am 
credibly  informed  that  they  have  never  proved  an  'Open 
Sesame.'" 

"I  see.    Then  you  advise  me  not  to  smoke ? " 

"I  am  confident  that  it  will  not  help  you  with  the  people 
you  spoke  of — the  other  people,"  answered  Morgan. 

Some  one  joined  them  at  this  point.  Otherwise  Lora 
might  have  pressed  her  inquiries  further  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment.  The  conversation  was  not  of  a  kind  to  be  re 
opened  in  cold  blood  even  by  so  practical  and  undaunted 
a  housewife  as  Lora.  But  she  pondered  Morgan's  remarks 
and  amiably  recognized  that  he  had  intended  to  do  her  a 
good  turn.  For  the  future  she  attended  Mrs.  Delano's 
Sunday  evening  receptions  in  a  less  jubilant  frame  of  mind. 

She  was  absorbed  in  trying  to  discover  what  she  required 
besides  many  millions.  She  could  not  well  put  the 
blunt  question  to  any  one  else,  and  it  preyed  upon  her. 
What  was  the  matter  with  them  ?  Why  were  not  her  hus 
band  and  she  qualified  for  admission  to  any  house  or 
entertainment  in  the  city?  Was  it  envy  or  thin-blooded 
formality  which  kept  a  certain  set  aloof  ?  To  be  sure,  she 
was  a  little  different  from  these  people — she  appreciated 
this;  but  in  what  did  their  superiority  consist?  Their 
methods  were  freezing;  their  outlook  was  limited;  their 
scale  of  expenditure  much  less  liberal  than  hers.  Acute  as 
she  was — shrewd  as  she  was,  her  easy-going  optimism 
presently  found  solace — almost  fierce  solace  in  the  thought 
that -Hugh  and  she,  not  they,  were  the  true  leaders.  Why 
should  she  bother  her  head  about  them  ?  Why  should  she 
heed  what  Morgan  Drake  had  said  ?  He  was  friendly,  but 
he  was  poor,  he  was  unimportant,  and  he  was  unenterpris- 


272  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ing;  he  failed  to  recognize  that  the  social  standards  which 
he  had  been  taught  to  revere  were  antiquated  and  inade 
quate.  She  would  proceed  as  she  had  begun — do  what 
she  chose,  as  she  chose;  continue  to  electrify  the  Back  Bay 
by  her  lavish  donations,  and  sooner  or  later  they  would  be 
compelled  to  take  her  in. 

Yet  six  months  later,  when  the  nuptials  of*  Chauncey 
Chippendale  and  Beatrice  Langdon  were  described  in  the 
newspapers,  Lora  turned  to  her  husband  after  perusing 
the  names  of  the  guests  at  the  wedding  breakfast  and  said 
abruptly : 

"  Everybody  except  ourselves  appears  to  have  been  at 
the  wedding.  I  thought,  Hugh,  that  General  Langdon 
and  you  were  quite  intimate." 

It  had  already  occurred  to  Blaisdell  that  it  would  have 
been  civil  of  the  Langdons  to  ask  them.  It  would  have 
gratified  him  to  appear  with  his  wife  at  the  reception  and 
to  be  given  the  opportunity  of  sending  a  princely  wedding 
present.  For  almost  the  first  moment  in  his  life  he  had  felt 
a  little  slighted,  and  Lora's  mournful  remark  aggravated 
this  impression;  nevertheless,  he  said  suavely: 

"We  are  business  friends — and  associates.  I  see  him 
about  town  constantly.  We  invited  them  to  our  ball,  and 
they  came." 

"He  came.  Mrs.  Langdon  did  not  come.  She  had  a 
cold  or  a  headache,  I  forget  which.  She  left  cards  when 
I  was  out."  Lora  recited  these  bitter  facts  as  though  she 
knew  them  by  heart. 

"I  frankly  admit  that  I  am  surprised  we  were  not  asked. 
I  would  have  sent  a  handsome  present."  Blaisdell  tried 
to  speak  dispassionately  and  to  suggest  that  after  all  they 
were  not  the  real  losers.  "I  do  not  think  that  it  is  worth 
regretting,  however.  It  may  even  have  been  an  oversight." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  273 

"  Was  it  an  oversight  that  we  have  not  been  asked  to  the 
Puritan  balls?" 

Blaisdell  had  only  a  hazy  notion  as  to  the  identity  of  the 
Puritan  balls.  He  remembered  now,  however,  that  he  had 
heard  Lora  make  two  or  three  casual  allusions  to  them  as 
something  out  of  the  ordinary.  In  view  of  the  variety  of 
entertainments  of  all  sorts  open  to  them,  why  should  she 
have  set  her  heart  on  these  particular  balls?  They  were 
not  public  functions;  otherwise,  of  course,  they  would 
have  been  asked.  Yet  it  was  evident  she  had;  moreover, 
the  omission  in  question  was  one  which  concerned  her 
special  domain. 

"What  are  the  Puritan  balls?"  he  asked  with  the  air 
of  one  who  felt  that  the  time  had  come  to  concentrate 
his  faculties  on  this  social  matter  as  he  would  on  a  new 
business  proposition. 

"  Oh,  the  balls  which  have  been  going  on  for  years— the 
balls  to  which  every  one  in  fashionable  society  are  invited. 
If  you're  not  invited,  you're  not  in  society — that's  the  test. 
You  mustn't  think  I'm  silly,  Hugh.  It's  because  I  know." 
Resting  her  elbows  on  the  expansive  shining  oak  table,  she 
leaned  eagerly  forward  telling  her  grievance.  "  We've  en 
tertained  enough  to  be  asked;  we  know  enough  people  to 
be  asked;  and  I  thought  that  perhaps  this  year  they'd  ask 
us.  But  they  haven't." 

"  Who  are  the  people  who  manage  them?" 

"  Mrs.  Harrison  Chippendale  and  Mrs.  Horatio  Lang- 
don  are  two  of  the  lady  patronesses.  Then  there's  Mrs. 
Staunton  Townsend,  Mrs.  Paul  Dudley— about  a  dozen 
in  all. 

"And  the  invitations  are  out?" 

"I  know  they're  out.  Priscilla  received  one  a  fortnight 
ago.  She  showed  it  to  me  before  she  put  it  in  the  fire." 


274  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Priscilla?" 

"Yes,  she  is  asked  and  we  are  not.  She  is  asked  and 
mama  and  Mr.  Avery  are  not." 

"Why  did  she  put  her  invitation  in  the  fire?" 

"Because  when  she  discovered  that  the -rest  of  the  fam 
ily  were  left  out  she  didn't  choose  to  accept.  I'm  not  sure 
—I'm  not  sure,  but  I  have  a  suspicion  that  she  may  have 
called  Henry  Sumner's  attention  to  the  fact  that  we  were 
not  included." 

"Priscilla  has  lived  in  the  neighborhood  of  Boston  all 
her  life  and  her  father  before  her.  Besides,  she  has  become 
acquainted  with  some  of  those  people  through  her  associa 
tion  with  Miss  Chippendale.  As  for  your  mother  and  Mr. 
Avery " 

"It  might  be  argued,  of  course,  that  they  were  too  old," 
broke  in  Lora,  "Though  Morgan  Drake  admitted  that 
lots  of  people  of  their  age  were  on  the  list.  But  you  and  I 
are  not  too  old." 

Although  Blaisdell  had  instinctively  made  use  of  mollify 
ing  arguments,  he  was  listening  with  increasing  sympathy 
to  every  word  his  wife  said,  and  the  defiant  manner  in 
which  she  enunciated  her  last  statement  caused  him  to 
fold  his  arms  as  he  sometimes  did  at  a  directors'  meeting 
when  the  situation  had  become  tense. 

"And  it  isn't  only  the  Puritan  balls  and  the  Langdon 
wedding,"  continued  Lora,  "it's  everything.  When  I  ap 
plied  two  years  ago,  to  have  a  place  reserved  for  Dorothy 
in  the  dancing-class,  I  was  put  off  with  the  flimsy  ex 
cuse  that  some  one  else  would  be  getting  it  up  at  that 
time.  I've  thought  about  it — tried  to  make  out  what  we 
could  have  done  to  justify  their  leaving  the  child  out  in  the 
cold — that  and  the  other  things — and  I  shouldn't  be  a  bit 
surprised  if  Mrs.  Harrison  Chippendale  were  at  the  bot- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  275 

torn  of  it.  She  has  never  forgiven  us  for  buying  their 
house."  Lora  paused  a  moment,  with  a  toss  of  her  chin 
to  emphasize  the  shrewdness  of  this  conjecture.  Suddenly 
she  exclaimed:  "Aren't  these  people,  the  Chippendales, 
the  Langdons — the  whole  crowd  under  great  obligations 
to  you,  Hugh  ?  Haven't  they  made  lots  of  money  in  Elec 
tric  Coke  and  everything  else  through  following  your 
lead?" 

Blaisdell  nodded.    "Some  of  them  have,  certainly." 

"Then  why  should  they  be  permitted  to  insult  your 
wife  ?  Couldn't  you  ruin  them  if  you  chose  ?  " 

"Ruin  them ? "  Blaisdell's  echo  was  by  way  of  marking 
time,  for  Lora's  succinct  sentences  were  summary  as  pistol 
shots.  "If  necessary,  yes — yes,  I  could,"  he  answered  in 
his  large  way  as  the  tragedy  of  the  situation  dawned  on  him 
and  he  found  himself  confronting  this  superb  draft  on  his 
"resources.  With  a  large  paper-cutter  fashioned  from  an 
ivory  tusk  he  involuntarily  made  the  gesture  of  sweeping 
any  possible  enemies  from  the  financial  chess-board.  But 
his  ensuing  words  showed  that  he  still  harbored  a  less 
violent  alternative. 

"Insult  you,  Lora?  These  people  cannot  insult  you. 
The  mistake  you  make  is  to  care  a  button  what  they  say 
or  do.  Ignore  them;  go  your  way,  and  let  them  go  theirs — 
and  presently — far  sooner  than  you  think — it  is  you  who 
will  be  setting  the  fashion  in  Boston,  not  they.  Social 
leadership?  Suppose  the  Mayor  of  Boston  were  to  give 
a  dinner  in  honor  of  the  visiting  son  of  a  foreign  potentate, 
would  not  we  be  among  the  very  first  persons  selected  ?" 

Lora  made  a  wry  face.  "I  don't  care  a  picayune  about 
dining  with  the  Mayor  of  Boston,  and  I  do  wish  to  be  in 
vited  to  the  Puritan  balls.  You're  a  man,  Hugh,  and  so 
that  may  not  seem  comprehensible  to  you — so  important 


276  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

as  it  really  is.  But  just  because  you're  a  man  it  may  be 
that  I  know  better  than  you  what  is  desirable  for  us  both 
socially.  The  trouble  is,  these  people  are  the  leaders  at 
present — and  they  don't  choose  to  let  us  in.  What  is  more, 
I  doubt  very  much  if  they  will  until  you  make  them." 
By  the  way  in  which  she  moved  her  defiant  little  chin  and 
by  her  emphasis  on  the  last  two  words,  Lora  imparted  to 
this  dejected  sentence  a  minatory  close. 

"You  are  the  best  judge  of  that,  of  course.  I  have  al 
ways  left  such  matters  to  you;  they  are  woman's  province. 
Since  they  persist  in  excluding  you  from  the  entertainments 
where  you  rightfully  belong,  I  shall  certainly  interfere.  It 
is  still  my  impression  that  you  exaggerate  the  influence 
which  these  old-timers  exercise;  their  pose  has  become 
fossilized.  But  it  is  enough  for  me  that  you  have  called 
my  attention  to  their  snobbishness,  and  that  you  are  dis 
tressed  by  it,  little  woman." 

Blaisdell  spoke  as  a  magnate  reluctantly  aroused,  yet 
like  a  man  who  intended  to  act  none  the  less  vigorously. 

Lora  was  wiping  her  eyes.  The  consciousness  that  her 
champion  was  girding  on  his  armor  had  removed  the  ten 
sion  from  her  nerves,  and  her  satisfaction  took  this  femi 
nine  form.  It  was  comforting  to  feel  that  if  these  people 
continued  to  turn  a  cold  shoulder,  she  was  certain  to  be 
avenged.  Such  was  her  first  reflection ;  but  after  the  glow 
of  elation  had  subsided  a  sigh  revealed — revealed  to  her 
self — that  her  satisfaction  was  not  complete,  and  presently 
she  said,  as  if  thinking  aloud: 

"I  wish  I  understood  why  they  asked  Priscilla  and  not 
me." 

Although  he  noticed  the  mournful  inflection,  Blaisdell 
let  Lora's  monologue  pass  without  comment.  Had  he  not 
already  mentioned  one  or  two  excellent  reasons  ?  And  yet 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  277 

a  little  later  in  the  evening  he  realized  that  he  was  putting 
the  same  question  to  himself — why  had  they  asked  Pris- 
cilla  ?  She  was  very  different  from  his  wife— she  always  had 
been.  Was  this  the  reason  ?  And  in  what  exactly  did  that 
difference  consist?  He  remembered,  too,  that  she  had 
burned  her  invitation,  and  he  mused  complacently  on  the 
loyalty  which  this  implied,  a  portion  of  which  he  appro 
priated  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HAVING  declared  her  intention  to  settle  down  as  a  con 
firmed  Bostonian  and  to  renounce  for  the  time  being 
foreign  travel  with  all  which  might  result  from  it,  Priscilla 
had  scarcely  set  her  desk  in  her  father's  new  house  in  order 
before  the  correspondence  flowing  from  the  numerous  de 
mands  on  her  time  and  sympathies  assumed  such  propor 
tions  that  she  decided  to  engage  a  secretary.  "A  modern 
executive  woman  has  no  right  to  squander  her  vitality  on 
clerical  or  household  drudgery  if  she  can  afford  to  pay  some 
one  to  do  it  for  her."  This  sentiment  was  her  step-mother's, 
uttered  several  times  before  Priscilla  heeded  it,  but  in  the 
end  she  allowed  one  of  the  rooms  of  her  suite  to  be  appro 
priated  to  the  use  of  a  stenographer. 

"We  shall  both  find  her  very  useful,"  purred  Mrs. 
Avery.  "So  far  as  house-keeping  is  concerned,  it  is  still 
a  pleasure  to  me,  thank  heaven,  to  go  into  the  kitchen,  if 
only  to  mouse  round — so  I  shall  never  abdicate  the  respon 
sibility  of  ordering  the  dinner  however  elaborate  my  estab 
lishment.  Lora  leaves  it  to  her  chef — and  it  must  be  a  satis 
faction  at  times  not  to  know  what  is  coming  next.  But  I 
can't  exactly  reconcile  it  with  marrying  for  better  or  for 


278  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

worse.  With  letters  it's  different.  I  can  pass  over  to  youi 
Miss  Murdoch  the  appeals  for  charity  and  the  invitations 
to  be  a  patroness  and  take  tickets  for  this,  that  and  the 
other,  and  whenever  I  do  write  anything  for  my  club,  I 
shall  be  able  to  know  how  it  sounds  type-written.  But  the 
most  interesting  thing  about  it  all  to  me  is,"  she  added, 
"  that  only  the  other  day  you  were  Miss  Chippendale's  sec 
retary,  and  now  you  are  employing  one  yourself  at  a  higher 
salary,  and  are  already  almost  as  important  in  the  philan 
thropic,  educational,  artistic  line  as  she.  That's  the  way 
things  go  in  this  country — even  in  Boston." 

In  brief,  Priscilla  had  suddenly  become  the  fashion. 
With  three  sponsors  so  prominent,  so  individual  and  repre 
senting  such  different  points  of  view  as  Miss  Georgiana 
Chippendale,  Mrs.  Sumner  and  her  brother-in-law,  it  was 
not  surprising  that  she  should  find  ready  outlets  for  her 
newly  aroused  energies.  Who  is  she  ?  Where  does  she  come 
from  ?  The  ladies  who  put  these  leading  questions  to  Mrs. 
Sumner  when  informed  that  Priscilla  was  no  stranger,  but 
had  lived  in  Boston  or  its  vicinity  all  her  days,  first  opened 
their  eyes  in  mild  surprise  and  inquired:  "Why  have  we 
never  heard  of  her?"  No  satisfactory  answer  being  pro 
vided,  they  invariably  added:  "She  is  charming."  This 
signified  that  they  admired  her  good  looks,  were  attracted 
by  her  spirited  address,  and  approved  of  her  air  of  distinc 
tion. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  commended  herself  to  the  circle 
in  which  Miss  Georgiana  moved  by  the  interest  she 
evinced  in  the  issues  of  the  day.  Her  suggestion  of  a  club 
which  should  not  condemn  everything  at  the  start  was  re 
garded  as  both  clever  and  salutary.  It  passed  from  lip  to 
lip,  and  presently  a  committee  of  earnest  women  waited 
on  her  to  intimate  that  it  was  desirable  to  issue  a  call  for 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  279 

a  meeting  in  order  to  organize.  "  Don't  agitate  against 
every  new  thing"— her  very  words,  except  that  "agitate" 
had  been  substituted  for  "kick,"  so  as  to  avoid  a  collo 
quialism  which  might  be  considered  vulgar— was  to  be  the 
motto  of  the  new  club,  so  she  was  informed  by  the  spokes 
woman.  It  would  be  a  piquant  and  practical  rallying  cry; 
indeed,  all  questions  involved  had  been  thoroughly 
threshed  out;  and  would  Priscilla  head  the  list  of  names  to 
the  call  and  consent  later  to  serve  as  vice-president?  The 
president  was  to  be  one  of  the  younger  professors  of 
Wellesley  College. 

"It  would  be  a  good  motto  for  all  clubs;  but  are  there 
not  far  too  many  clubs  in  Boston  already  ?  I  couldn't  ven 
ture  to  assume  the  responsibility  of  helping  to  found 
another." 

Having  given  these  reasons  for  her  refusal,  Priscilla  for 
an  instant  became  conscious  of  qualms.  Was  she  not  hin 
dering  instead  of  aiding?  Pouring  cold  water  on  a  good 
cause  instead  of  putting  her  shoulder  to  the  wheel  ?  But 
the  next  moment  these  rear-guard  doubts  vanished. 
Another  club  for  the  purpose  would  be  an  absurdity. 
"But  I  shall  be  glad  to  help  to  inoculate  the  clubs  we 
already  have  with  the  new  spirit,"  she  hastened  to  add. 

The  committee  seemed  disappointed  at  first,  especially 
the  spokeswoman— Miss  Winston— a  delicate,  refined- 
looking  woman  with  hair  on  the  verge  of  gray,  and  a  very 
gentle  but  somewhat  worried  voice. 

"Too  many  clubs?"  She  looked  at  Priscilla  over  her 
eye-glasses  as  one  doubting  yet  evidently  contemplating 
a  novel  idea.  "I  had  not  supposed  so.  Too  many  clubs ? 
It  is  possible  that  we  have.  I  am  not  sure  that  we  have 
not." 

"We  ought  to  debate  it  at  the  'Mother  Eve's  Club,'" 


280  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

said    another   of   the    committee.      "Question — is   there 
a  superfluity  of  clubs  already  in  Boston?" 

"I  am  positive  that  there  are  too  many  men's  clubs," 
said  the  third  member.  "I  know  of  men  who  belong  to  a 
dozen — and  that  doesn't  include  the  dining  clubs  and — er 
—the  poker  clubs." 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Miss  Winston,  and  she  took 
from  her  black  reticule  an  envelope  which  she  handed  to 
Priscilla.  "I  take  pleasure  in  informing  you,  Miss  Avery, 
that  you  have  been  elected  a  member  of  the  Mother  Eve's 
Club.  It  meets  every  Saturday  forenoon  and  is  devoted  to 
the  discussion  of  topics  of  vital  current  concern.  I  am  the 
secretary.  If  you  accept  you  will  have  an  early  opportunity 
to  take  part  in  the  debate — to  lead  it  if  you  prefer — on  the 
very  interesting  point  which  you  have  just  raised — have 
we  or  have  we  not  in  Boston  too  many  clubs  of  all  kinds  ?" 

By  means  of  this  suggestion  Priscilla  scored  a  success  no 
less  signal  than  her  first.  Her  new  criticism  spread  like 
wildfire.  "Have  you  met  Priscilla  Avery?  She  has 
ideas,"  was  on  the  tongue  of  every  woman  in  the  commu 
nity  interested  in  social  progress.  And  the  most  know 
ing  added,  when  they  felt  sure  of  their  audience,  "She 
dresses  well,  too,  and  is  decidedly  handsome." 

The  support  of  her  third  ally  was  chiefly  moral,  and 
might  be  said  to  consist  at  first  in  her  own  determination 
to  imitate  his  ways.  She  was  resolved  not  only  to  be  busi 
ness-like,  energetic  and  alert  for  opportunities,  but  to  do 
things  on  a  large  scale. 

When  she  found  that  she  was  succeeding,  she  derived 
fresh  incitement  from  his  approval.  It  was  obvious  to  her 
that  her  brother-in-law  was  interested — a  little  surprised 
by  her  progress.  She  was  conscious  now  and  again  that 
he  was  looking  at  her  with  new  eyes,  as  if  he  were  taking 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  281 

a  fresh  survey  of  her  qualities.  When,  as  occasionally 
happened,  she  asked  his  advice,  he  let  her  perceive  by  his 
half  bantering  yet  incisive  comments  that  he  realized  she 
was  making  a  distinct  place  for  herself  in  the  community  by 
her  own  individuality.  This. was  flattering,  and  in  return 
she  was  not  unwilling  that  he  should  gather  from  time  to 
time  that  she  was  aware  of  the  source  of  her  inspiration 
and  grateful  for  having  been  taught  to  cultivate  spontaneity 
and  a  liberal  outlook.  She  endeavored  to  make  her  apart 
ment  and,  so  far  as  she  could,  the  entire  house  express  her 
revolt  from  asceticism  and  her  sympathy  with  space  and 
color.  She  rejoiced  to  believe  that  the  day  of  cramped 
and  sober  dinginess  was  over.  Hereafter  her  surroundings 
should  exemplify  the  joy  of  living.  It  was  well  to  be  rich 
if  only  that  the  picturesque  tiles  in  her  bath-room,  the 
exquisiteness  of  her  boudoir,  the  spacious  distinction  of  the 
whole  establishment  should  bear  witness  to  the  creed  that 
it  was  not  wrong,  but  one's  duty,  to  enjoy  beautiful  things. 
It  should  be  one  of  her  privileges  as  a  wealthy  woman 
to  patronize  the  best  dressmakers,  wear  costly  stuffs  and 
precious  gems.  For— for  who  could  tell  at  what  hour  the 
bridegroom  might  not  come?  It  was,  perhaps,  her  duty 
at  her  age  to  renounce  all  hope,  but  recognition  of  the 
possibility  should  continue  to  be  a  part  of  her  enthusiasm. 
And  she  was  willing  even  to  incur  the  reproach  of  dressing 
for  the  bridegroom. 

That  she  might  get  a  glimpse  of  him— the  bridegroom- 
was  one  of  her  reasons  for  going  into  society.  This  and 
the  opportunity— a  reciprocal  pleasure— of  going  under 
Lora's  wing.  Though  her  days  were  busy,  she  went  from 
beautiful  house  to  beautiful  house  in  the  evening,  entranced 
no  less  by  the  untrammelled  flow  of  her  own  spirits  than 
by  the  consciousness  that  she  was  admired.  She  walked  at 


282  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

first  as  one  walks  through  a  mazy,  illuminated  garden 
fascinated  by  the  dreamy  festal  atmosphere,  scarcely  see 
ing,  scarcely  hearing,  simply  enjoying,  without  desire  to 
discriminate  or  impulse  to  criticise.  She  walked  as  one 
who  sleeps.  When  she  awoke  it  was  with  a  start.  The 
bridegroom  had  not  appeared.  This  was  to  be  expected; 
but  Lora  did  not  seem  to  her  happy. 

Mrs.  Delano's  Sunday  evening  receptions  were  the 
definite  awakening  cause;  or  rather,  the  three  which  she 
attended.  She  had  gone  on  the  first  occasion  with  a  cer 
tain  sense  of  jubilation.  Why  was  not  Sunday  evening  an 
ideal  time  for  people  to  meet  informally  and  agreeably? 
Men  were  less  apt  to  be  fatigued  or  preoccupied.  The 
kernel  of  this  argument  had  been  supplied  by  Blaisdell  and 
it  fitted  in  with  her  own  desire  to  register  her  sympathy 
with  the  enemies  of  social  stiffness  and  monotony.  Her 
first  sight  of  women  smoking  had  begotten  the  thought, 
"how  horrified  Henry  Sumner  would  be  if  he  could  only 
see  me  puffing  a  cigarette!  I  should  never  be  the  same  in 
his  eyes  again."  As  Henry  was  not  present,  Priscilla  had 
abstained,  chiefly  from  lack  of  practice.  Her  memories  of 
the  midnight  cigarette  with  Lora  years  before  were  not 
provocative  of  confidence.  But  she  straightway  conceived 
the  plan  of  startling  Henry  the  next  time  he  came  to  call 
by  lighting  one  with  an  inveterate  air. 

Many  of  the  women  were  smoking,  and  many  of  the  men 
—musicians,  actors  and  artists — had  foreign  countenances. 
After  the  novelty  wore  off,  and  she  found  herself  sitting 
between  a  German  violin  player  whose  fingers  were  deeply 
stained  by  cigarette  smoking,  and  a  long-haired  Russian, 
who  performed  marvellously  on  the  piano,  she  was  beset  by 
chagrin  at  not  being  able  to  speak  French  and  German 
fluently.  Most  of  the  foreigners  spoke  English;  but  here 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  283 

was  she  barely  able  to  articulate  a  few  stammering  sen 
tences  in  any  Continental  tongue !  Why  had  she  not  gone 
abroad  and  completed  her  education  ? 

The  second  evening  at  Mrs.  Delano's  was  a  repetition 
of  the  first  save  that  there  was  a  rumor  current — Morgan 
Drake  was  responsible  for  it — that  Henry  Sumner  was 
coming — coming  to  see  her. 

"Coming  to  carry  you  home,  dear,"  whispered  Lora. 
"'This  is  no  place  for  any  woman  worthy  to  become  my 
wife.'  Can't  you  hear  him?" 

"I'm  not  altogether  sure  that  it  is,"  she  responded,  look 
ing  her  sister  in  the  face.  "For  me,  I  mean,"  she  added 
with  an  imperious  toss  of  her  head,  as  she  realized  what  she 
had  said.  "  Bother  his  wife.  I  doubt  very  much  if  I  shall 
be  worthy  to  tie  the  shoelaces  of  that  very  superior  person." 

Lora  ignored  the  familiar  protestation,  being  momen 
tarily  much  more  interested  by  Priscilla's  implied  stricture 
on  the  quality  of  the  entertainment. 

"I  agree  that  it's  rather  dull  to-night.  The  celebrities 
are  very  small  potatoes,"  she  said.  "  But  next  week  Freda 
has  promised  to  come." 

"Freda?" 

Priscilla  dwelt  on  the  final  syllable  with  a  rising  inflection 
at  the  remembrance  of  diverse  dismaying  social  scandals 
associated  with  the  name  of  this  noted  actress  of  foreign 
antecedents.  It  was  not  the  moment  to  discuss  the  matter, 
for  what  Lora  had  said  had  been  whispered  in  passing  and 
they  were  virtually  within  earshot  of  other  people.  But 
each  recognized  the  unsympathetic  attitude  of  the  other, 
and  when  they  were  in  the  carriage  alone  together — for 
Mrs.  Avery  had  been  kept  at  home  by  a  headache — each 
was  prepared  to  resume  the  subject.  Lora  was  the  first  to 
broach  it. 


284  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Mrs.  Delano  happens  to  know  that  the  stories  about 
Freda  are  grossly  exaggerated.  She  may,  in  the  course  of 
her  life,  have — er — done  things  which  people  off  the  stage 
wouldn't  do,  for  the  temptations  of  an  actress — especially 
those  with  temperament — must  be  tremendous.  But  the 
convincing  argument  is  that  the  rest  of  the  world  refuses 
to  apply  the  same  strict  standard  to  people  who  have  done 
something  great — the  limited  few,  as  Hugh  said,  to  whom 
they  are  under  great  artistic  obligations — which  they  do  to 
the  every-day  person  like  you  and  me.  There  are  individ 
uals  who  are  bigger  than  conventions."  Feeling  that  she 
had  expressed  herself  with  a  pungent  reasonableness, 
which  her  sister  could  not  gainsay  if  she  did  not  wish  to 
impair  her  reputation  for  intelligent  liberality,  Lora  leaned 
back  and  buried  her  face  in  the  bunch  of  roses  which  she 
had  brought  away  with  her.  Her  husband  was  in  New 
York  again,  and  she  had  been  asked  by  Mrs.  Delano  to 
fill  a  place  at  the  dinner  of  eight  which  was  the  invariable 
prelude  for  a  favored  few  to  the  Sunday  evening  gatherings. 

Lora  had  evidently  discussed  the  point  with  Blaisdell— 
such  was  Priscilla's  first  thought — and  he  had  declared  it 
to  be  a  case  of  common-sense  triumphing  over  uncom 
promising  conventions  for  the  sake  of  the  world's 
enjoyment.  She  could  almost  hear  him  say  the  words. 
But  at  least  he  had  not  said  them  to  her.  If  she  had 
been  swept  off  her  feet  by  them,  she  would  almost  have 
been  grateful  for  the  sake  of  not  differing  from  him.  As  it 
was,  she  recognized,  to  her  own  surprise,  that  she  remained 
not  only  unconvinced,  but  was  already  resolute  in  her  in 
tention  not  to  compromise  in  the  smallest  degree  in  regard 
to  this  particular  matter.  But  though  her  pulses  were 
stirred,  she  desired  to  appear  no  less  dispassionate  than  her 
sister. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  285 

"What  becomes,  then,  of  social  standards?  Isn't  there 
such  a  thing  as  refined,  elegant  society?" 

"Abroad,  if  people  are  distinguished  and  very  clever, 
one  does  not  make  invidious  inquiries." 

"But  that  is  in  Bohemian  society.  The  men  go,  but 
their  wives  usually  stay  away.  There's  a  real  society  in 
all  foreign  countries  to  which — er — courtesans,  however 
gifted,  have  found  the  gates  barred." 

"I  should  prefer  Bohemian  society.  It  would  be  much 
less  dull,"  answered  Lor  a  complacently. 

"But  the  one  is  genuine,  the  other  spurious,  however 
lively.  They  can't  be  mixed.  They  never  have  been 
mixed." 

"Perhaps  in  this  country  we  shall  show  that  they  can  be 
mixed  without  injurious  consequences — er — in  the  case  of 
real  genius.  There's  the  point,  Priscilla;  when  it  comes 
to  genius,  American  real  society,  as  you  call  it,  will  have 
the  sense  and  the  courage  to  let  the  bars  down— er— and 
not  use  such  nasty  epithets,"  said^Lora,  and  she  tapped  her 
little  foot  on  the  carriage  floor. 

"In  Boston?  Never.  There  are  people  who  would  die 
first."  Priscilla  was  surprised  at  her  own  warmth.  It 
came  across  her  that  she  was  speaking  as  Henry  Sumner 
might  have  done,  and  she  was  inwardly  appalled. 

"Those  are  the  people  who  never  come  to  Mrs.  Delano's 
Sunday  evenings,  I  suppose.  Many  of  them  merely  be 
cause  it's  Sunday.  The  day  may  dawn  in  Boston  when 
those  people  will  not  be  invited  to  the  entertainments  to 
which  they  would  like  to  go." 

Priscilla  noticed  the  touch  of  asperity  imparted  to  this 
speech,  as  if  Lora  had  certain  individuals  in  her  mind's 
eye.  It  was  the  first  intimation  to  her  that  her  sister  was 
not  socially  content.  But  she  evolved  this  later  rather  than 


286  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

at  the  moment,  inasmuch  as  she  was  still  rubbing  her  eyes 
after  her  sudden  awakening  to  the  need  of  discrimination. 
She  was  spurred  by  the  desire  to  make  clear  that  whatever 
the  future  might  have  in  store  for  her  as  the  result  of  such  a 
threat,  she  was  ready  to  take  a  definite  stand  now. 

"  Each  woman  must  judge  for  herself.  You're  married, 
Lora;  I'm  not.  Possibly  that  makes  a  difference.  I've 
not  many  scruples,  as  you  know — but  one  must  draw  the 
line  at  something;  and  I  draw  it  at  meeting  Freda  socially. 
And  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  I  don't  care  to  accept  invi 
tations  from  any  hostess  who  receives  her  socially." 

"Not  to  accept  invitations  for  the  other  evenings  would 
simply  be  like  biting  your  own  nose  off,  dear."  This  was 
so  very  clear  to  Lora  that  she  disposed  of  it  in  this  sum 
mary  fashion  as  irrelevant.  "I  don't  think  being  married 
makes  much  difference,"  she  continued.  "It  isn't  neces 
sary  to  be  introduced  to  her,  and  it  seems  to  me  a  pity  to 
draw  the  line  on  so  harmless  and  interesting  a  thing  as 
watching  her  from  the  other  side  of  the  room.  I  know 
that  Mrs.  Delano  expects  there  will  be  a  crush." 

"  Then  my  room  will  be  better  than  my  company.  This 
is  one  of  the  few  occasions,  Lora  dear,  when  you  and  I 
must  agree  to  differ." 

One  of  the  effects  of  this  decision  of  Priscilla's  was  he: 
moral  inability  to  light  a  cigarette  in  Henry  Sumner's 
presence  when  he  next  called.  It  seemed  to  her  as  she  sat 
and  looked  at  him  that  they  had  changed  characters;  that 
she  was  a  Puritan  maiden  and  he  almost  a  dare-devil.  Not 
entirely,  but  almost.  Not  only  had  he  been  seen  at  Mrs. 
Delano's  on  Sunday  evening,  but  on  that  Sunday  evening 
of  all  Sunday  evenings  when  Freda  was  present.  To  light 
a  cigarette  would  be  wasted  on  such  a  gay  Lothario  to  be 
gin  with — and  in  the  next  place  she  was  face  to  face  with 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  287 

the  dismaying  reflection  that  she  was  responsible  for  his 
downfall.  Dismaying  because  a  year  ago  she  would  have 
gloried  in  the  fact,  whereas  now,  having  prevailed  upon  him 
to  swallow  his  minor  scruples  for  her  sake,  she  was  shrink 
ing  from  the  imputation  on  herself  which  this  implied. 
She  had  ceased  to  be — she  never  had  been  the  sort  of  per 
son  she  had  led  him  to  believe ;  moreover,  she  wished  him 
to  know  it.  Yet  there  was  no  denying  that  it  was  her  beck 
oning  hand  which  had  lured  him  from  his  frosty  pinnacle, 
and  that  if  he  had  consented  to  be  introduced  to  the  compro 
mising  Freda,  it  had  been  in  order  not  to  appear  narrow- 
minded  in  her  eyes.  At  this  rate  of  progress,  who  could 
tell  that  it  might  not  become  presently  her  Christian  duty 
to  endeavor  to  stay  his  downward  career?  For,  as  the 
result  of  processes  which  continued  to  baffle  her,  she  had 
become  not  far  from  prim;  for  the  moment,  as  it  seemed, 
primmer  than  he. 

The  idea  of  his  degeneracy  was  entertaining  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  she  shuddered.  Not  from  concern  for  him  but 
for  herself.  What  mattered  it  to  her  what  became  of  this 
exemplary  young  man  compared  with  the  importance 
of  understanding,  if  not  resisting,  these  baffling  processes  ? 
Whither  was  she  drifting,  and  why  was  she  drifting? 
Here  she  was  taking  back  water  again  where  she  had  con 
fidently  assumed  that  she  knew  the  channel — and  taking  it 
so  soon.  For  her  admissions  at  the  Art  Museum  had  sa 
vored  to  her  of  generosity  quite  as  much  as  of  justice.  She 
had  obeyed  the  impulse  to  throw  her  faithful  dog  a  bone. 
She  had  let  him  know  that  while  she  had  no  desire  to 
mould  herself  upon  his  mother,  she  appreciated  her  worth 
and  the  value  of  the  traditions  for  which  she  stood.  And 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  she  had  intimated ^that,  though 
her  estimate  of  his  personal  qualities  continued  far  from 


288  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

flattering,  she  had  exonerated  him  in  her  mind  from  certain 
indictments.  She  had  glided  away  from  the  interview  in 
high  spirits,  believing  that  she  had  displayed  praiseworthy 
magnanimity,  and  she  had  accepted  the  first-fruits  of  her 
behavior — namely,  the  straightening  out  of  her  strained 
relations  with  this  Boston  Brahmin — as  a  legitimate  re 
ward.  He  had  taken  her  at  her  word  and  come  to  see  her, 
and  what  might  be  termed  an  intellectual  truce  had  been 
established  between  them. 

It  was  the  sequel  which  worried  her.  She  could  not 
shift  to  his  shoulders  the  blame  for  the  state  of  mind  in 
which  she  found  herself  at  present.  During  the  ensuing 
months  he  had  plainly  sought  for  once  in  his  life  not  to 
figure  as  an  irritant,  and  without  sacrificing  his  principles 
to  avoid  topics  which  might  ruffle  the  halcyon  aspect  of 
their  mutual  forbearance.  She  had  done  the  same,  and  by 
way  of  compensation  for  her  previous  magnanimity  she 
had  felt  at  liberty  not  to  prevent  him  from  following  in  her 
social  wake,  which  he  seemed  bent  on  doing.  She  had 
argued  that  it  would  broaden  his  outlook  and  improve  his 
manners.  She  would  let  him  see  that  she  had  no  sympathy 
with  asceticism  or  rawness.  If  he  insisted  on  pursuing  her, 
he  must  keep  pace  with  her  proclivities  and  tastes — those 
of  a  modern  rich  man's  daughter — even  if  this  entailed 
ceasing  to  wear  gloves  a  size  too  large  for  him  and  restrain 
ing  the  angle  of  his  inartistically  arranged  evening  tie. 

She  flattered  herself  that,  as  a  result  of  thus  dancing 
attendance  on  her,  he  had  improved  a  little  on  the  score  of 
personal  spruceness.  Hitherto  he  had  appeared  almost 
obtrusively  clean,  as  if  recently  soused  with  soap  and 
water;  his  hair  was  apt  to  be  too  long  or  too  short,  and  the 
trousers  of  his  evening  clothes  were  prone  to  bag  for  lack 
of  pressing.  Though  it  could  not  be  said  that  he  had  be- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  289 

come  irreproachable  in  this  respect,  these  inelegancies 
were  less  noticeable  than  formerly.  The  right  not  to  be 
valeted  was  one  of  the  few  points  on  which  her  father  had 
insisted  under  the  stylish  regime  inaugurated  by  her  step 
mother  after  their  removal  to  Commonwealth  Avenue, 
just  as  he  had  clung  to  his  subscription  to  the  Nation  dur 
ing  the  domestic  innovations  which  followed  his  second 
marriage.  But  her  step-mother  had  surreptitiously  man 
aged  to  renew  and  enlarge  his  wardrobe  with  such  success 
that  he  had  lately  become  addicted  to  wearing  a  dark-blue 
fancy  waistcoat  with  red  dots  as  a  foil  to  his  sober  morning 
coat.  Henry  Sumner  had  thus  far  condescended  to  nothing 
so  frivolous  as  this;  but  he  had  made  distinct  progress. 
To  be  sure,  the  nap  of  the  silk  hat  which  he  now  wore  on 
Sundays  and  holidays  was  apt  to  be  rubbed  here  and  there 
the  wrong  way  and  had  lost  its  lustre.  Soon  it  would  have 
lost  its  style  also,  for  she  opined  that  it  reposed  in  an  old 
bandbox  the  rest  of  the  week  and  was  expected  to  last  the 
rest  of  his  life.  On  the  whole,  however,  he  had  gained  per 
ceptibly  in  finish  without  losing  his  self-respect,  whereas 
she,  having  pointed  the  way  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  was 
suddenly  out  of  conceit  of  her  own  leadership.  It  had  been 
educational  to  him  to  see  her  surrounded  by  other  men, 
the  chief  social  asset  of  some  of  whom  was  their  exquisite- 
ness.  Two  of  them  had  been  suitors;  each  more  present 
able  than  he.  Even  though  they  were  seeking  her  money, 
would  that  she  could  have  fallen  over  head  and  ears  in 
love !  Was  not  the  hour  ripe  for  such  a  contingency  ?  In 
stead  she  was  heart-whole  and  in  the  mortifying  predica 
ment  of  being  obliged  again  sooner  or  later  to  eat  her  own 
words  as  the  consequence  of  playing  the  mentor  out  of 
sheer  philanthropy. 

Sooner  or  later,  but  why  immediately  ?    If  possible,  she 


290  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

would  leave  him  to  discover  for  himself  that  she  had 
doubled  on  her  course  like  a  bewildered  hare  and  sought 
sanctuary.  As  it  happened  the  occasion  lent  itself  to  delay. 
Henry  was  preoccupied.  As  was  customary  with  him 
when  he  had  something  on  his  mind,  he  was  not  sensitive 
to  outside  impressions.  He  had  come  to  tell  Priscilla  of 
his  younger  sister's  engagement  to  Professor  Paton. 
Therefore  he  never  got  an  inkling  that  her  thoughts  were 
oscillating  between  the  brink  of  confession  and  the  alterna 
tive  of  reaching  out  her  hand  for  the  cigarette  box  by  way 
of  hanging  for  a  sheep  instead  of  a  lamb.  It  is  engrossing 
to  any  woman  to  learn  that  a  man  who  has  once  loved 
her  has  found  solace  elsewhere.  Such  is  the  inconsist 
ency  of  human  nature,  she  sometimes  entertains  pass 
ing  regrets.  But  the  announcement  invariably  puts 
everything  else  for  the  time  being  into  the  background. 
Priscilla  proved  no  exception.  She  experienced  not  the 
slightest  pang,  but  she  was  so  completely  absorbed  by  the 
news  that  she  forgot  her  state  of  mind.  Now  that  Professor 
Paton  was  betrothed  to  another,  his  good  points  stood  out 
in  relief  and  she  found  herself  listening  eagerly  to  the  de 
tails  of  the  affair. 

"We  feared  Barbara's  over-conscientiousness  might 
cause  her  to  distrust  whether  she  cared  for  him  enough — • 
though  the  family  felt  sure  she  did,"  Henry  was  saying. 
"  My  mother  is  very  much  pleased.  My  sister  and  he  have 
many  tastes  in  common,  and  it  means  a  fresh  bond  with 
Harvard.  They  will  have  to  live  very  simply,  of  course." 
His  pause  and  the  almost  furtive  glance  which  he  cast 
around  the  sumptuous  drawing-room  indicated  plainly  as 
words  to  Priscilla  that  he  was  thinking:  "Fm  well  aware 
that  it  wouldn't  suit  you  at  all."  Then  he  added:  "But 
they  are  prepared  for  that." 


THE   CHIPPEXDALES  291 

Priscilla  could  not  resist  saying:  "I  know  that  Professor 
Paton  owns  some  Electric  Coke.  I  saw  his  name  recently 
on  the  list 'of  stockholders.  If  it  sells  some  day  at  $1,000 
a  share,  as  some  of  the  insiders  expect,  their  programme 
will  be  ruthlessly  interfered  with." 

Henry  shook  his  head.  "I'm  willing  to  admit  that  it 
costs  more  to  live  than  formerly — which  Uncle  Harrison 
says  is  due  to  the  tariff.  But  barring  necessities,  they  will 
not  care  for  money.  That  is  where— 

"I  fail  to  do  justice  to  your  sister  and  her  future  hus 
band?" 

"  I  was  not  claiming  credit  for  them.  I  was  merely  stat 
ing  their  individual  point  of  view." 

Priscilla's  mobile  face  quickened.    "It's  the  real  thing, 

isn't  it  ?   I  recognized  so  the  moment  you  told  me  the  news." 

Henry  looked  puzzled,  for  there  was  amusement  as  well 

as  earnestness  in  her  tone,  and  she  was  such  a  chameleon 

in  her  moods  with  him. 

"A  typical  intellectual  Boston  marriage,"  she  declared 
with  obvious  satisfaction. 

Henry  colored  a  little.  "I  assure  you  they  are  very 
much  in  love." 

Priscilla  bit  her  lip  to  avoid  contradiction.  To  dis 
pute  the  assertion  in  terms  would  be  a  liberty,  since  the 
woman  was  his  sister.  "I've  no  doubt  that  they  are  very 
much  attached  to  one  another."  Priscilla  plumed  herself 
on  this  phrase  as  she  uttered  it.  "But  it's  essentially  a 
mating  of  minds — a  union  of  mental  processes  as  well  as 
of  hearts  if  you  like.  A  rising  Harvard  professor  and  a 
daughter  of  one  of  Boston's  first  families!  Of  course  it  is, 
Mr.  Sumner.  You  must  certainly  admit  that." 

Her  smiling  eagerness  was  like  a  long  wave  from  a 
roused  yet  sunny  sea  which  sweeps  upon  an  interposing 


292  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

rock  and  submerges  it  with  creamy  spray.  "I  suppose  it 
may  be  termed  so,"  he  replied  unflinchingly  after  a 
moment,  confessing  yet  undaunted.  Then  he  added: 
"It  may  interest  you  to  hear  that  Mr.  Paton  has  been 
made  a  full  professor." 

Priscilla's  eyes  sparkled.  "How  delicious— and  appro 
priate — and  inevitable." 

Henry  tried  to  ignore  the  medley  of  adjectives.  "Nat 
urally  we  are  gratified.  But  why — er — appropriate?" 

"Wasn't  it  the  logical  outcome — the  reward — of  mar 
rying  a  Sumner  and  a  Chippendale  ?  Harvard  recognized 
the  bond." 

"Mr.  Paton  is  a  scholar.  His  promotion  was  inevitable 
if  he  had  remained  single." 

"In  the  dim  future,  doubtless.  But  this  clinched  the 
matter,  didn't  it?  You  know  it  did,"  she  cried  gaily. 
Then  before  he  could  frame  a  thoroughly  truthful  retort 
to  her  charge  she  continued,  "I  told  you  not  long  ago,  you 
remember,  that  I  had  become  interested  in  Boston— inter 
ested  in  understanding  the  old  Boston  which  your  people  rep 
resent.  This  engagement  is  a  genuine  bit  of  old  Boston." 

"Old?  "he  queried. 

"Old — but  fossilized.  The  self-conscious  philosophy 
which  it  stood  for  is  dead.  What  is  left  is  merely  auto 
matic — like  your  booby  huts  and  your  lawyers'  green 
bags.  The  Boston  to  which  they — and  you — belong  per 
forms  its  old-fashioned  functions  solemnly  as  ever,  blind 
to  the  fact  that  decomposition  has  set  in.  It's  like — it's 
like  the  Wonderful  One-Hoss  Shay,  which  went  to  pieces 
all  at  once.  Do  you  remember  ? 

'That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 
It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 
And  then  of  a  sudden  it ' 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  293 

That's  what  will  happen,  Mr.  Sumner,  to  the  Boston  to 
which  you  belong — drop  to  pieces  all  at  once." 

A  more  engulfing  wave  this.  The  smiling  sea  in  pity 
yearned  to  explain  that  its  onslaught,  though  vital,  was  not 
vicious.  "I'm  immensely  interested  in  all  this — sociolog 
ically,  if  that's  the  term.  Boston  has  had  a  glorious  past. 
It  is  to  have  a  glorious  future."  She  threw  back  her 
shapely  head  like  a  princess,  but  it  was  plain  her  antithesis 
was  meant  to  convey  that,  though  the  community's  redemp 
tion  was  to  be  accomplished  by  others,  she  realized  that  her 
visitor  was  a  victim  of  atavism  and  not  a  free  agent.  To 
cement  this  graciousness  she  yielded  to  a  further  impulse. 
"I  seem  to  be  amused.  Don't  think  I'm  laughing  at  you. 
It's  at  the  philosophy.  If  there  was  a  time  when  I  did 
laugh  at  you,  please  forget  it;  I  shall  never  laugh  at  you 
again.  It's  not  your  fault — what  you  stand  for;  and  I 
frankly  admit  that  it  has  a  certain  picturesqueness  of  its 
own  like  the  old  andirons  and  hall  clocks.  Shall  we  be 
friends — real  friends  ?  " 

She  put  out  her  hand  as  she  spoke.  The  clasp  which 
she  exchanged  with  Henry  was  that  of  a  seeker  after  truth 
and  justice. 

"  There  is  nothing  which  I  desire  more,"  he  answered. 
His  words  of  joy  were  mumbled  from  surprise,  but  Pris- 
cilla  had  taken  his  acquiescence  for  granted.  Her  tender 
of  amity  was  the  forerunner  of  a  no  less  signal  declaration. 

"It  follows— as  I  told  you  that  day  at  the  Art  Museum 
— that  we  must  alway  look  at  things  from  totally  different 
standpoints.  We  belong  to  separate  camps,  I  and  my 
people,  you  and  your  people." 

In  the  shock  of  personal  contact  had  her  hand  been  a  tea 
cup,  Henry  might  have  let  it  fall,  for  his  own  was  trembling. 
Despite  her  strictures,  his  heart  was  full  of  joy,  for  there 


294  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

was  no  room  to  doubt  her  sincerity,  no  question  that  at 
last  a  gleam  of  genuine  sunshine  had  pierced  the  cloud- 
bank  of  their  relations.  Before  their  meeting  at  the  Art 
Museum  she  had  disdained  him;  since  then  she  had  tol 
erated  him — ostensibly  because  she  admired  his  mother 
and  had  become  interested  in  the  ideals  which  the  latter 
represented.  Now,  although  she  declared  that  the  philos 
ophy  in  which  he  had  been  nurtured  was  outworn,  she  had 
paused  in  her  academic  discussion  of  Boston  wedlock  to 
flash  at  him  this  ray  of  personal  regard.  Though  her  con 
cluding  words  had  been  martial,  they  negatived  in  no  sense 
her  previous  assertion  that  he  and  she  had  become  friends 
again  at  last.  They  never  had  been  friends  since  that  fate 
ful  interview  so  many  years  ago  when  she  had  weighed 
him  in  the  balance  and  found  him  wanting.  Weighed  his 
soul,  as  she  thought;  but  was  it  not  his  body  ?  His  wooden 
body,  in  sheer  defiance  of  which  he  had  grotesquely  kissed 
her  lily  white  wrist  ?  Now  this  same  hand  had  lain  close 
in  his  own  again  in  pledge  of  reconciliation.  Did  not  this 
merit  some  return  on  his  part,  even  though  it  might  in 
volve  a  temporary  lowering  of  his  flag  ?  His  introspective 
soul  could  not  deny  that  there  was  some  truth  in  her  ani 
madversions.  If  concrete  proof  were  needed,  the  still 
abiding  consciousness  of  that  self-same  wooden  body  pro 
vided  it. 

"  I  protest  against  belonging  to  separate  camps,"  he  said. 
"K  our  points  of  view  are  different,  I  must  try  to  adopt 
yours." 

The  contraction  of  Priscilla's  eyebrows  left  room  for 
doubt  whether  from  an  eleemosynary  standpoint  such 
wholesale  capitulation  was  to  her  liking. 

"How  can  you  if  you  are  true  to  yourself?"  was  her 
comment. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  295 

"Even  rats  desert  a  sinking  ship.  May  not  one  warned 
seek  an  antidote  to  fossilization— endeavor  to  improve?" 
"Oh,  you  have  improved,"  she  exclaimed  with  prose 
lytizing  promptness.  Was  it  candor  or  the  dread  of  elicit 
ing  a  personal  note  which  led  her  to  add,  "I  doubt  if  they 
are  more  than  surface  changes.  You  cannot  help  being 
the  same  at  heart." 

"At  heart?"  In  pensive  rhapsody  Henry  ruffled  the 
nap  of  his  silk  hat  the  wrong  way,  intending  to  smooth  it. 
But  the  untoward  gesture  did  not  interrupt  his  speech. 
"You  have  said  I  am  self-conscious.  I  presume  that  my 
other  faults  in  your  eyes  are  my  deadly  earnestness  and- 
er — my  narrow-mindedness." 

Priscilla  listened  in  amazement.  Not  only  was  he  deftly 
holding  out  his  cardinal  sins  like  sizzling  apples  on  a  fork, 
but— more  wonderful  still— by  the  use  of  the  word  "deadly" 
he  had  shown  that  he  was  capable  of  laughing  at  him 
self. 

"How  did  you  find  out?"  she  asked.  . 
"Am  I  not  right?" 

Priscilla  drew  a  deep  breath.  The  opportunity  was  one 
of  a  lifetime,  and  he  had  brought  it  upon  himself.  More 
over,  he  had  his  statement  pat  as  if  he  had  worked  it  out 
in  the  watches  of  the  night.  "  You  have  always  appeared 
to  me  self-conscious  and  narrow-minded.  I  used  to  think 
you  carped  simply  for  the  sake  of  carping.  But  I  was  mis 
taken;  I  admit  your  seriousness— your  deadly  serious 
ness." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Henry,  emulating  the  well-trained 
English  servant's  reply  to  overwhelming  orders.  "I  have 
known  your  opinion  of  me  for  a  long  time.  And  strange 
to  think— they  are  all  really  virtues  run  to  seed." 

She  pondered  a  moment.     "So  they  are— so  they  are. 


296  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

And  yet  a  virtue  run  into  the  ground  is  worse  than  a  vice. 
It  lacks  dignity,  for  it  is  merely  futile."  She  enjoyed  her 
characterization,  and  under  the  spell  of  it  bent  her  gaze 
archly  on  her  antagonist,  desiring  to  enforce  it.  "That's 
just  what  those  old  Bostonians  are — futile,"  she  said  to 
herself. 

"Very  likely,"  he  answered.  "But  it  explains  things. 
It's  a  heritage — a  respectable  heritage." 

Priscilla  could  not  help  smiling.  This  new  vein  of 
irony  at  his  own  expense  was  a  revelation.  Why  had  she 
never  detected  it?  "Of  course  it  is;  I  see  what  you 
mean;  it's  a  case  of  the  virtues  not  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
being  visited  on  the  third  and  fourth  generations." 

Henry  hesitated  a  moment.  "After  all,"  he  said,  "it  is 
actions  which  count.  You  see  I  know  my  faults.  It  would 
be  the  part  of  a  friend  to  tell  me  what  I  have  done  lately 
of  which  you  disapprove.  Will  you  not  accept  me — as  a 
pupil?" 

The  invitation  recalled  to  Priscilla's  mind  her  previous 
humiliation  of  spirit.  Yet  it  was  plainly  not  the  time  to 
meet  abnegation  with  abnegation.  If  he  were  so  absorbed 
in  contemplation  of  his  own  shortcomings  that  he  had 
failed  to  be  duly  shocked  by  hers,  so  much  the  better  for 
her  from  a  tactical  standpoint.  Wherefore  bite  the  dust 
save  to  break  the  force  of  censure  ?  Might  she  not  even  be 
justified  in  saving  her  self-respect  and  rehabilitating  her 
character  behind  the  formidable  screen  of  school-mistress  ? 
Her  alert  thoughts  sped  along  this  pathway  to  considera 
tion  of  his  more  pressing  inquiry.  He  had  improved,  but 
she  had  told  him  that  he  was  unchanged  at  heart.  It  ought 
to  be  a  simple  matter  to  put  her  finger  on  a  line  of  conduct 
or  individual  acts  of  which  she  disapproved.  She  sought 
to  do  so;  yet,  as  she  sought,  an  irritating  sense  of  failure 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  297 

succeeded  her  endeavors.  Irritating  because,  though  pre 
cise  convicting  instances  eluded  her,  she  remained  positive 
— fiercely  positive — that  they  existed. 

"Why  do  you  distrust— throw  cold  water  on  everything 
which  my  brother-in-law  does?" 

This  reply  was  offered  as  a  stop  gap  to  gain  time.  But 
as  she  finished  Priscilla  became  suddenly  aware  that  it 
embodied  the  kernel  of  what  she  wished  to  say — that  it 
was  her  true  grievance.  She  realized  this  with  surprise; 
yet  at  the  moment  she  did  not  shrink  from  it;  on  the  con 
trary,  she  rejoiced  in  the  singleness  of  the  charge. 

Henry  stiffened  a  little.  Apparently  he  had  been  pre 
pared  to  hear  that  this  was  the  sum  and  substance  of  his 
offending,  for  his  reply  was  immediate. 

"Lately.    What  have  I  said  or  done  lately?" 

She  ignored  the  qualification.  "But  you  do  distrust 
him— still?" 

There  was  a  touch  of  appeal  in  her  voice,  accusatory  as 
it  was.  It  seemed  to  Henry's  listening  ears  to  say — "this 
is  the  crucial  difference  between  us;  your  other  conces 
sions  are  of  no  avail  if  you  are  obdurate  here;  yield — and 
our  truce  is  cemented."  She  had  taken  him  up  onto  a 
mountain,  as  it  were,  and  exhibited  to  him  the  kingdoms 
of  the  earth. 

"I  have  every  desire  not  to  distrust  him." 

This  was  the  limit  of  his  denial;  his  lips  refused  to  mus 
ter  more.  It  was  equivalent,  he  knew,  to  an  admission 
that  what  she  had  alleged  was  true.  In  a  single  breath  he 
had  undone  the  progress  of  months.  But  though  the 
temptation  to  recant  had  been  luring,  his  told  tenacity  of 
opinion,  which  had  seemed  obligingly  dormant  of  late, 
had  reasserted  itself  commandingly. 

"But  you  do." 


298  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

t 

"Blaisdell  and  I  look  at  things  from  opposite  stand 
points.  We  always  have;  I  fear  we  always  shall." 

"Exactly;  just  as  I  said;  you  belong  to  different  camps. 
And  I  belong  to  his." 

Cognizant  that  the  trenchant  coldness  of  her  conclu 
sion  had  caused  their  resuscitated  friendship  to  droop 
like  late  flowers  at  the  touch  of  frost,  Henry  remained 
silent  for  a  moment  musing  on  the  havoc  wrought  in 
what  had  been  just  now  a  smiling  garden.  But  Priscilla 
seemed  to  negative  regret  on  her  part  by  the  eager 
words : 

"Hugh  Blaisdell  is  the  most  public-spirited  man  I  know; 
the  most  generous,  the  most  broad-minded,  the — most 
effective." 

She  lingered  on  the  final  words  as  on  a  bugle  blast. 
Often  as  she  had  formulated  an  estimate  of  her  brother-in- 
law  in  her  own  thoughts,  this  was  the  first  opportunity  she 
had  ever  had  to  proclaim  it  as  his  champion.  So  convinc 
ing  did  it  sound  to  herself  that  she  mistook  for  an  instant 
Henry's  hesitation  for  the  recoil  of  a  censorious  nature 
before  the  clarion  of  truth. 

"  Yes — undeniably  yes — effective.  The  important  word, 
isn't  it  ?  He  makes  one  feel  from  the  first  that  he  is  that. 
Effectiveness  in  the  modern  sense  comprehends  everything 
else.  But  one  can  be  effective  for  good  as  well  as  for  evil. 
I  am  unable  to  regard  Blaisdell's  influence  as  other  than 
a  menace  to  the  community." 

Death  knell  as  this  might  prove  to  his  hopes,  Henry  felt 
the  necessity  of  being  thus  explicit.  Up  to  a  certain  point 
he  had  been,  willing  to  compromise — even  though  he 
might  be  obliged  to  wink  at  degenerating  ethical  results. 
But  to  equivocate  here  would  be  treason  to  his  soul. 
As  a  social  factor  Blaisdell  was  the  antipodes  of  himself 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  299 

— the  prosperous  ogre  to  whom  he  yearned  to  play  a  Jack 
the  giant-killer. 

"  A  menace  to  the  community — menace  to  the  commun 
ity?"  Priscilla  was  unprepared  no  less  for  the  quality 
than  for  the  directness  of  the  charge.  In  view  of  the 
recent  course  of  events  she  had  nattered  herself  that 
Henry  would  mince  matters.  Had  he  proved  a  mush  here, 
his  subjugation  would  have  been  complete  and  she  could 
have  ridden  away  with  his  scalp  dangling  at  her  saddle 
bow — and  dismissed  him  forever.  "Do  you  realize  what 
this  community  owes  to  him  ?  "  She  paused  a  moment  that 
he  might  realize  the  enormity  of  his  injustice.  "I  will  tell 
you  a  few  of  the  things.  He  has  revolutionized  business 
methods  and  helped  to  transform  Boston  from  a  provincial 
town  into  a  city;  he  has  developed  rapid  transit;  en 
dowed  the  Maternity  Hospital;  enriched  the  Art  Museum. 
He  has  given  right  and  left  from  the  wealth  acquired  by 
his  own  unaided  talents  to  promote  deserving  causes,  and 
foster  struggling  genius." 

So  fluent  was  her  eulogy  that  it  had  the  effect  of  being 
.  by  rote;  but  to  show  that  her  recitals  were  only  extracts 
from  an  ampler  record  she  repeated — "These  are  a  few 
of  the  things."  She  sat  upright  with  her  hands  clasped  on 
her  lap,  tense  in  every  fibre.  The  desire  to  testify,  which 
had  succeeded  her  amazement,  was  yielding  to  a  more 
caustic  emotion.  "I  do  not  understand,  Mr.  Sumner, 
what  you  can  mean." 

"His  generosity  and  public  spirit  are  in  his  favor,  I 
admit." 

"Yet  you  have  done  your  best  to  thwart  them  whenever 
you  could."  Her  words  supplied  the  click  of  flint  inter 
cepting  steel.  The  flash  from  her  eyes  emulated  the  spark. 

"And  have  been  invariably  worsted.    I  admit  this,  too." 


300  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Priscilla  frowned  at  his  concessions.  They  reminded 
her  of  the  gifts  of  the  Greeks. 

"Of  what  do  you  accuse  him?"  she  asked  more  delib 
erately. 

"Accuse  him?"  The  iteration  was  the  echo  of  his  own 
sudden  perplexity.  He  was  in  a  position  only  to  generalize 
and  she  was  certain  to  demand— had  a  right  to  demand 
concrete  instances.  "Of  lowering  all  our  standards;  of 
debauching  public  sentiment,"  he  added. 

This  was  exactly  what  he  had  in  mind,  but  he  was 
almost  sorry  that  he  had  yielded  to  the  temptation.  He 
was  not  sure  that  it  was  not  cowardly  for  he  was  obliged 
to  stop  there.  He  knew  his  indictment  by  heart.  "I 
accuse  him"  (he  said  to  himself)  "of  accomplishing  his 
purposes  by  plausible  underhand  methods— of  manipu 
lating  legislative  bodies,  of  subtly  controlling  the  press; 
of  keeping  his  fingers  on  all  the  stops  in  the  organ 
of  public  utility  and  making  them  pipe  what  sounds  he 
pleases.  I  accuse  him  of  dulling  the  public  conscience  by 
the  hypodermic  of  his  contagious  plausibility,  so  that 
every  wrong  is  made  to  appear  a  right."  But  the  proofs?  , 
She  would  ask  for  his  proofs,  and  alas !  he  did  not  possess 
them.  He  knew  that  his  stricutres  were  true,  but  he 
lacked  documentary  evidence. 

"I  wish  that  you  would  mention  some  instances,"  ex 
claimed  Priscilla,  with  defiant  calm. 

Henry  did  not  answer  for  an  instant.  He  no  longer 
regretted  that  he  had  spoken,  for  what  was  to  be  gained 
by  a  postponement  or  evasion  of  the  issue  which  she  had 
forced  upon  him  ?  Strong  as  his  innate  antagonism  to  her 
brother-in-law  had  been,  it  was  something  of  a  revelation 
to  him  that  this  difference  of  opinion  was  the  real  chasm 
which  separated  them.  Having  bridged  it,  she  had  handed 


THE   CHIPPENDALES 

him  an  axe,  and  with  a  fell  stroke  he  had  cut  in  two  the 
plank  by  which  she  had  sought  to  bring  them  closer. 
Proofs?  He  should  have  had  them  ready.  But  was  not 
the  true  fabric  of  his  criticism  made  up  of  substances  im 
palpable  as  air?  Of  substances  which  would  dissolve  if 
fingered,  yet  which,  to  sensitive  eyes  and  ears  and  nerves, 
were  convincing  testimony  ?  He  saw  with  the  eyes  of  a  long 
line  of  truth-seeking  ancestors— his  heritage,  as  he  was  still 
proud  to  boast.  If  only  she  would  see  as  he  saw,  no  formal 
proofs  were  necessary. 

"It  would  not  be  worth  while,"  he  answered. 
"Not  worth  while?    But  you  have  accused— 
"I  know.    If  you  do  not  see  for  yourself,  I  should  not 
succeed  in  convincing  you." 

Priscilla's  face  was  a  study,  for  the  significance  of  this 
parry  was  not  lost  on  her.  "  But  at  least— 

"I  am  unable  to  cite  indisputable  facts.    It  would  be 
simply  my  word  against  his." 
"You  made  a  definite  charge." 

"You  asked  my  opinion — why  I  distrusted  him— and 
I  told  you." 

"But  why  have  you  nothing  to  base  it  on  more  tangible 
than — er — introspection  ?  " 

Henry  winced  slightly  at  the  aptly  chosen  term;  then 
his  observant  eagle  look  melted  into  something  quizzical 
as  he  deduced  an  explanation  which  seemed  to  play  into 
her  hands. 

"I  suppose  that  is  a  part  of  what  you  style  my — our— 
futility." 

Though  she  realized  that  after  the  first  assault  he  had 
withdrawn  his  forces  without  striking  another  blow  and 
left  her  mistress  of  the  field,  Priscilla  instead  of  pressing 
the  retiring  foe,  as  an  unexhausted  victor  should,  remained 


302  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

pensive.     "If  you  do  not  see  for  yourself,  I  should  not 
succeed  in  convincing  you."    These  were  insidious  words. 
They  contained  a  reflection  on  herself;  they  were  an  inti 
mation  of  a  superiority  which  she  had  always  resented  in 
the  abstract,  but  which,  in  the  form  of  a  definite  instance 
and  on  the  lips  of  this  stubborn  yet  serenely  confident 
opponent,  negatived  the  effect  of  his  pusillanimous  retreat 
and  already  made  her  victory  a  barren  one.    Thus  musing 
she  mechanically  looked  at  Henry  as  if  to  discover  from 
a  fresh  inspection   the   secret  of  this  hypnotism.      She 
noticed  again  his  austerity,  his  large  nose  and  prominent 
cheek  bones.     Though  his  face  was  a  trifle  fuller  than 
formerly,   his   air  of  earnestness  still  gave  it  a  hungry, 
almost    hawk-like  expression.     His  mouth  was  partially 
concealed  by  his  drooping  mustache  which  had   thick 
ened,   but    Priscilla   was   sure    of    its    asceticism.      She 
noticed,  too,  that  the  nap  of  his  hat  had  been  rubbed  the 
wrong  way,  and  that  his  standing  collar  gaped  a  little. 
The  pin  in  his  expansive  Lord  Stanley  cravat — his  Sunday 
neck-tie — which  was  in  the  form  of  a  gold  horse-shoe  (a 
present  brought  him  from  Europe  many  years  before  by 
his  Uncle  Harrison),  was  sadly  in  need  of  burnishing. 
Yet  with  all  his  lack  of  finish,  it  could  not  be  denied  that 
he  looked  a  gentleman.    The  delicacy  of  his  finely  chiselled 
features  and  their  responsiveness  to  what  was  passing 
through  his  mind  left  no  room  to  doubt  his  intelligent  re 
finement;    and  his  penetrating  eyes — they  were  his  best 
feature — were  still  luminous  with  the  sardonic  remark 
which  he  had  just  directed  against  himself.  After  all,  she  had 
failed  to  turn  the  tables* on  him.    He  had  managed  to  shift 
the  issue.    It  was  no  longer  Blaisdell's,  but  her  own  charac 
ter,  which  was  challenged  and  held  up  to  scrutiny.    While 
her  glance  still  rested  on  him,  Priscilla  heard  him  continue : 


THE   CHIPPENALES  303 

"What  you  state  is  true;  I  have  nothing  tangible  to 
offer  at  present— nothing  that  I  can  point  to  and  say, 
'look  at  this,  read  that.'  But  I  reserve  the  right,  if  I  may, 
to  come  to  you  and  say,  'here  they  are,  the  proofs,  the 
requisite  proofs.'" 

It  was  an  appeal;  bravely  though  it  rang  at  the  close,  it 
was  still  an  appeal.  Evidently  he  felt  that  he  had  put  him 
self  in  a  position  where  he  had  need  to  crave  her  indulgence. 
He  had  merited  a  rebuke  and  the  hour  was  ripe  for  admin 
istering  one.  Yet  as  she  opened  her  lips  to  reply,  Priscilla 
realized  that,  though  she  was  seeking  to  obey  a  logical 
impulse  to  inflict  chastisement,  she  had  lost  her  zest  in  that 
feature  of  the  situation.  His  futility  (she  stiU  clung  ^  to 
this  consoling  word)  was  immaterial  in  comparison  with 
the  insinuation  that  her  own  spiritual  vision  was  de 
fective. 

"It  seems  to  me  strange,"  she  said,  "that  you  should 
unable  to  offer  at  the  present  time  a  single  proof  of— your 
remarkable  statement."    Thereupon  she  frowned  to  cover 
her  own  consternation. 

Henry  mistook  this  knitting  of  her  brows  for  genuine 
severity.  "If  I  had  believed  that  I  could  make  clear  to  you 
what  I  mean,  I  would  try  to  do  so  now." 

Priscilla  did  not  avoid  his  Delphic  utterance.  "You 
mean  that  the  fault  is  in  me?"  she  said  with  a  withering 
smile.  As  she  spoke  a  servant  appeared  with  the  tea 
things,  which  he  proceeded  to  arrange  on  a  little  orna 
mental  table  in  front  of  her. 
"Fault?"  echoed  Henry. 

"Misfortune  I  should  have  said,  of  course."  A  foot 
man  is  at  times  a  convenient  background  for  irony. 

"If  you  put  it  that  way— in  a  certain  sense,  yes.  But  I 
hope  some  day  to " 


304  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"It  is  the  present  which  interests  me.  If  I  am  color 
blind,  I  wish  to  know  it  at  once,  not  in  the  dim  future." 

Henry  sighed.  That  slight  involuntary  signal  of  distress 
reached  Priscilla's  ears  above  the  clatter  of  her  preparations 
to  serve  tea.  It  signified  to  her  that  as  usual  self-absorp 
tion  had  prevented  him  from  guessing  the  true  state  of 
affairs,  and  that,  misled  by  her  air  of  raillery,  he  had  failed 
to  grasp  the  secret  of  which  she  had  just  afforded  him 
a  glimpse.  He  was  rising  to  depart. 

"No  tea,  Mr.  Sumner?" 

"I  never  take  it  in  the  afternoon." 

"Ah,  yes;  it  keeps  you  awake,  I  believe." 

Henry  lingered  for  a  moment.  She  was  crushing  him 
and  he  was  once  more  the  victim  of  his  own  inherent  want 
of  tact. 

"I  have  been  clumsy  again,"  he  murmured.  "I  fear 
I  have  shattered  our  newly-established  friendship,  which 
meant  so  much  to  me." 

What  a  good  soul  he  was — and  how  guileless!  Such 
was  Priscilla's  thought  as  she  surveyed  him  from  her 
vantage  ground  behind  the  tea  tray.  He  was  not  looking 
at  her  as  he  spoke.  Instead,  he  was  trying  to  smooth  out 
with  his  coat  sleeve  the  nap  of  his  hat,  the  ruffled  surface 
of  which  his  shy  glance  had  just  detected.  Could  any 
place  but  Boston  produce  his  counterpart  ?  Why  had  she 
ceased  to  be  indignant  ?  He  had  certainly  given  her  just 
cause  to  be.  If  she  were  sure  that  he  bored  her,  now  was 
the  time  to  terminate  their  intimacy  forever.  But  she 
would  hold  on  to  him,  if  for  no  other  reason,  to  vindicate 
her  own  clear-sightedness. 

"We  have  been  pointing  out  each  other's  faults  like  two 
school-girls,"  she  said.  "The  obligations  of  friendship  are 
reciprocal.  If  there  is  some  essential  failing  which  one 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  305 

does  not  recognize — color  blindness,  for  instance — is  it 
not  the  part  of  the  other  to  be  persistent?"  She  was  well 
aware  that  he  was  capable  of  entangling  his  foot  in  her 
tea  table  and  upsetting  it,  but  he  was  sometimes  mentally 
agile  in  understanding  her  when  she  talked  in  parables. 

It  proved  so  here.  Henry's  face  changed  in  a  moment. 
"Ah,"  he  cried,  "then  you  are  not  hopelessly  offended?" 

Priscilla  pursed  her  lips.  She  had  no  intention  of  being 
too  good  to  him.  Moreover,  the  direct  question  caused 
her  to  feel  some  qualms  on  the  score  of  loyalty  to  her 
brother-in-law. 

"That  depends.  I  am  giving  you  time — the  time  you 
asked  for — to  vindicate  yourself.  If  you  fail,  and  I  feel 
morally  certain  that  you  will,"  she  said  with  emphasis, 
looking  at  him  steadily  over  her  tea  cup,  "why,  then  we 
can  never  be  friends  again.  I  should  have  the  right  to— 
to  despise  you,  wouldn't  I?" 

"You  would.  But  if  I  succeed?"  Henry  retorted  with 
characteristic  eagerness. 

"Succeed?"  she  repeated.  Then,  as  if  she  were  talking 
to  herself,  and  were  facing  for  the  first  time  an  appalling 
possibility,  she  added:  "In  that  event  I  shall  be  a  very 
unhappy  woman." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

As  has  been  stated,  Henry  Sumner's  arraignment  of 
Blaisdell  had  occurred  some  six  months  prior  to  Lora's 
appeal  to  her  husband  on  the  subject  of  the  Puritan  balls. 
It  was  not  without  its  direct  influence  both  on  Henry  and 
on  Priscilla.  It  enabled  him  to  dispense  with  the  check- 
rein  by  which  he  had  been  endeavoring  for  her  sake  to  pull 


306  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

up  his  prejudice.  His  mouth  had  spoken  out  of  the  ful 
ness  of  his  heart,  and  he  could  no  longer  hope  to  win  her 
favor  by  modifying  his  opinion  of  her  favorite.  His  only 
chance  of  reestablishing  himself  in  her  good  graces  was  to 
prove  to  her  that  he  was  right.  During  the  moments  of 
their  conversation  when  he  had  eagerly  sought  to  name 
instances  which  should  speak  for  themselves  he  had  de 
sisted  from  a  sudden  sense  of  a  lack  of  practical  informa 
tion,  and  he  had  been  forced  to  content  himself  for  the  time 
being  with  glittering  generalities — trenchant,  but  none  the 
less  generalities.  He  had  gone  from  the  interview  resolv 
ing  to  probe  more  deeply  into  the  affairs  of  the  body,  social 
and  politic,  so  that,  when  challenged  hereafter  to  support 
his  statements,  he  would  not  be  convicted  of  futility. 

He  said  to  himself  as  he  strode  away  from  her  house 
that  he  could  not  afford  to  be  content  with  the  plea  that 
Blaisdell  was  so  hedged  about  with  privilege  and  bul 
warked  from  close  observation  that  his  secret  actions 
could  only  be  surmised.  That  he  fervently  believed  him  to 
be  an  enemy  of  society  from  the  standpoint  of  the  best 
citizenship — which  was  the  only  one  with  which  he  and 
Miss  Avery  were  concerned — might  be  a  justification  for 
saying  so  in  the  heat  of  discussion,  but  did  not  excuse  him 
from  promptly  taking  steps  to  verify  what  would  otherwise 
become  calumny.  Two  results  of  their  argument  were 
obvious:  He  must  smoke  Blaisdell  out  or  henceforth  he 
must  hold  his  peace;  and,  secondly,  his  avocation — his 
taste  for  taking  part  in  public  affairs — had  received  the 
fillip  of  a  private  cause;  for  his  personal  happiness  had 
become  dependent  on  his  demonstrating  that  his  accusa 
tions  were  true.  At  the  same  time  his  conscience  was  free, 
for  he  had  stigmatized  Blaisdell  in  his  own  heart  long  be 
fore  the  issue  had  become  a  personal  one. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  307 

As  he  pursued  his  way  through  the  Public  Garden  and 
across  the  Common  the  rays  from  the  afternoon  sun  were 
falling  on  the  gilded  dome  of  the  State  House.  This  con 
spicuous  and  cherished  landmark  had  associations  for  him 
apart  from  ordinary  civic  pride,  since  it  sheltered  the  bat 
tle-flags  of  the  militia  who  had  served  in  the  War  of  the 
Rebellion.  It  was  his  wont  not  infrequently  to  visit  the 
rotunda  to  gaze  upon  the  tattered,  war-stained  remnants 
of  the  colors  of  his  father's  regiment.  As  his  glance  rested 
on  the  familiar  building  he  sighed,  for  envy  of  his  father's 
lot  assailed  him.  A  splendid— yet  because  the  appeal  had 
been  so  direct — was  it  not  a  comparatively  easy  solution 
of  the  battle  of  life?  He  had  often  envied  the  martial 
glory,  but  hitherto  it  had  chiefly  served  as  an  incentive  to 
noble  deeds  of  his  own  contrivance,  the  opportunity  for 
which  would  not  be  long  delayed. 

Now  as  he  followed  the  horizon  line  in  an  arc,  his 
mind's  eye  reproduced  beyond  the  tree-tops  and  the  busy 
boundary  of  Tremont  Street,  the  panorama  of  a  new, 
smoky  heterogeneous  city — the  almost  mushroom-like  suc 
cessor  of  the  town  of  his  ancestors  and  of  his  own  boyhood . 
The  little  orbit  in  which  he  had  been  nurtured  and  in 
which  they  had  revolved  had  become  almost  a  side  cir;:uit 
in  comparison  with  the  swaths  of  life  v,Thich  swept  daily 
through  those  thoroughfares  beyond—  i  riches  of  high 
finance  buttressed  with  great  trust  companies,  and  capil 
laries  of  retail  trade  guarded  and  advertised  when  the 
sun -went  down  by  a  cordon  of  electric  light  along  which 
surged  a  new  population,  Italians,  Poles  and  Portuguese 
in  whose  favor  the  quondam  Irishmen  of  the  North  End 
had  renounced  their  monopoly  of  the  pick  and  shovel. 
On  his  left  hand,  through  the  elms,  he  could  detect 
the  white  door  and  old-fashioned  curled  railing  of  the 


308  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

family  mansion — his  Aunt  Georgiana's — and  a  bee  line 
would  lead  him  face  to  face  with  the  brass  knocker 
of  his  Uncle  Baxter's  solitary  residence  on  Park  Street, 
around  which  real  estate  agents  metaphorically  hovered, 
like  vultures  over  an  aged  lion,  ready  to  appropriate 
it  for  shops  the  moment  the  owner  was  safely  interred 
in  Mt.  Auburn.  Everything  else  was  changing,  almost 
everything  else  was  gone.  Yes,  Priscilla  was  right,  the 
old  Boston  was  moribund,  and  the  new,  with  its  whir 
and  its  glare  and  its  bustle  offered  a  fresh  set  of  problems 
to  the  hungry  spirit;  new,  and  infinitely  puzzling.  His 
opportunity  was  at  hand — to  smoke  out  Blaisdell.  But 
how  was  he  to  seize  it  ?  How  was  he  to  become  a  force  in 
this  easy-going  democratic  Boston?  For  democracy,  as 
Morgan  Drake  was  constantly  pointing  out,  was  the  mod 
ern  watchword  even  in  Boston;  while  he,  a  futile  aristo 
crat,  was  bent  chiefly  on  refining  his  individual  soul  by  the 
white  light  of  Concord  philosophy.  He  yearned  to  die  at 
the  head  of  a  regiment,  but  he  shrank  from  soiling  his 
hands  with  the  muck  of  common  life. 

To  the  taunt  in  which  he  thus  indulged  Henry  retorted 
swiftly  in  self-defence,  "Am  I  not  active  in  the  Associated 
Charities  ?  Have  I  not  been  a  watch-dog  of  the  Common  ?  " 
Though  these  virtues  were  not  to  be  gainsaid,  they  seemed 
to  him  then  and  there  to  dwindle  until  they  became  of  pig 
my  size.  In  order  to  prevail,  he  must  no  longer  stand  aloof 
in  the  isolation  of  conscious  superiority;  he  must  no  longer 
refuse  to  lend  a  hand  because  those  who  would  welcome  his 
aid  did  not  aim  at  absolute  perfection.  He  must  not  always 
be  in  opposition.  His  gospel  must  henceforth  be  a  broader 
sympathy  with  his  fellow-man.  The  brotherhood  of  man. 
Deeply  in  earnest  as  he  was,  the  phrase  brought  a  wry 
taste  to  his  palate.  How  could  men  be  his  brothers  unless 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  309 

they  raised  themselves  to  his  standards?  Must  he  sacri 
fice  his  ideals,  his  principles,  his  birthright  by  lowering  his 
to  theirs  ?  As  he  faced  the  anguish  of  this  alternative — for 
spiritual  clap-trap  or  equivocation  were  not  among  his 
faults — he  found  himself  murmuring  aloud:  "Are  buying 
and  selling  and  amusing  themselves  for  the  sake  of  amuse 
ment  all  they  care  for?  Is  the  old  Boston  spirit  really 
dead?" 

It  was  the  involuntary  cry  of  one  eager  to  believe  the 
contrary,  yet  appalled  by  the  odds.  While  he  sought  a 
consoling  answer  to  his  murmur  he  beheld  on  the  mall 
a  few  yards  ahead  a  propitious  sight.  A  nondescript  but 
amiable-looking  individual — by  his  appearance  an  every 
day  citizen — had  gathered  around  him  in  a  circle  a  score 
or  more  of  the  fowls  of  the  air — the  city  pigeons — and  was 
feeding  them  with  grains  of  corn  from  a  side  pocket. 
Other  passers  attracted  by  the  spectacle  had  become  by 
standers.  Henry  stood  still  on  the  outer  fringe  of  this 
group  and  watched  the  tame  birds  compete  for  and  peck 
at  the  desired  kernels.  They  revealed  a  certain  leisurely 
dignity  even  under  the  spur  of  excitement.  A  few  of  them 
looked  draggled,  but  most  were  plump,  with  here  and 
there  a  glossy  iridescent  breast  and  a  mien  as  if  the  pos 
sessors  knew  themselves  to  be  proud  denizens  of  Beacon 
Hill. 

The  sight  served  as  a  rainbow  of  promise  to  Henry's 
eyes.  His  earliest  associations  were  with  the  ancestors  of 
these  same  birds.  One  of  his  first  childish  memories  was 
of  feeding  them  on  the  window-sill  of  his  father's  counting- 
room.  It  served  also  as  an  antidote  to  what  he  had  been 
forced  to  witness  on  balmy  spring  days  in  recent  years — 
the  Common  desecrated  by  the  prostrate  forms  of  unkempt 
loungers — many  of  them  in  stupor;  by  scattered  news- 


310  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

papers  and  costermongers'  colored  wrappings.  There  was 
still  some  delicacy  of  sentiment  left — some  reverence  for 
the  trees  and  turf  and  creatures  in  this  historic  enclosure 
which  had  become  a  people's  park. 

As  he  mused  he  caught  sight  in  the  near  distance  of 
two  squirrels  scampering  up  the  trunk  of  one  of  the  elms 
on  the  Beason  Street  mall — large  fellows  with  bushy  tails. 
Here  was  another  favorable  omen.  He  had  heard  lately 
that  the  squirrels  were  being  better  protected  as  the  result 
of  his  Uncle  Harrison's  and  Aunt  Georgiana's  protests. 
The  news  that  he  had  seen  these  would  gladden  his  rela 
tives. 

Henry  rang  at  the  door  of  his  aunt's  house  with  a  lighter 
heart  and  a  sense  of  fresh  determination.  The  old  Boston 
spirit  might  be  dormant,  but  it  could  be  counted  on  to  re 
assert  itself.  It  might  be  stifled  for  a  time,  but  it  never 
failed  to  crop  out  anew.  At  whatever  the  cost  he  would 
battle  to  preserve  its  essence;  and,  in  spite  of  the  odds,  he 
would  justify  having  shaken  his  fist  in  the  face  of  the  new 
and  speciously  false  ideals. 

"I  have  decided  to  take  up  politics,"  he  could  not 
refrain  from  informing  his  aunt  whom  he  found  at  home. 

Miss  Georgiana  had  opinions  to  express  and  questions  to 
ask  on  a  variety  of  subjects.  After  Henry  had  promised  to 
remain  to  high  tea — her  Sunday  function  at  which  quince 
marmalade  and  waffles  invariably  formed  the  complement 
to  cold  chickens  and  ham — she  gave  him  an  opportunity 
to  tell  her  about  the  squirrels,  and  to  relate  the  incident 
of  the  pigeons.  But  he  did  not  get  another  chance  to 
broach  his  confidence  until  she  had  run  the  gamut  of 
the  diverse  burning  topics  in  which  she  happened  to 
be  most  interested  at  the  moment.  How  did  he  like 
the  new  Public  Library  now  that  it  was  finished  and 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  311 

what  did  he  think  of  the  Sargent  decorations?  Had  he 
heard  that  Mrs.  Merrivale,  the  medium  of  the  Psychic 
Society,  was  under  a  new  and  more  articulate  control? 
He  would  never  put  any  flesh  on  his  bones  until  he  adopted 
the  latest  regimen — raw  eggs  between  meals;  one  before 
breakfast,  five  during  the  day,  and  one  at  night.  Mrs. 
Everett  Farrar  had  gained  twenty-five  pounds  in  three 
months  on  the  diet.  The  first  was  difficult  to  swallow,  but 
the  others  slipped  down  easily,  just  like  oysters. 

When  finally  she  paused  and,  looking  searchingly  at 
her  nephew,  inquired:  "Well,  how  have  you  been  getting 
on  of  late?"  Henry  gave  the  answer  which  has  been 
stated. 

"  Politics.  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  Miss  Georgiana  with 
an  approving  nod.  "So  far  as  I  can  see,"  she  continued, 
bridling,  "you're  the  only  one  of  the  family  in  the  younger 
generation— the  boys,  I  mean;  girls  don't  count— who 
cares  to  do  anything  public-spirited.  You  were  pig 
headed  about  the  arsenic,  but  you  did  your  best  to  protect 
the  tombs  and  to  save  the  Common.  Priscilla  Avery's 
brother-in-law  was  too  much  for  us  there.  He  never 
convinced  me— but  he's  smart,  that  Mr.  Blaisdell.  I 
consult  him  now  and  then  about  my  investments,  and 
they've  not  done— er— badly."  Miss  Chippendale  winked 
slyly  as  she  spoke.  "But  you  needn't  tell  anybody.  And 
that  reminds  me,"  she  added  imperatively,  "don't  go 
away  after  tea  until  I  draw  you  a  cheque — no  matter  if  it 
is  Sunday.  It  may  come  in  handy  while  you're  in  training 
to  become  Mayor  of  Boston.  But  what  I  began  to  say  was, 
I'm  glad  there's  one  of  the  family  who's  interested  in 
something  besides  money-making  and  muscular  sports.  It 
hasn't  been  your  Uncle  Harrison's  fault— poor  man— that 
he  was  never  sent  to  Congress,  and  he  always  intended 


312  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

that  his  eldest  son  should  go  into  the  diplomatic  service. 
Although  your  Aunt  Margaret  is  extravagant,  I'm  sure 
he  would  have  pinched  himself  to  accomplish  this.  But 
no — your  cousin  Chauncey  chose  instead  to  go  into  a  stock 
broker's  office  on  the  strength  of  kicking  foot-ball  (I've 
never  seen  one,  but  I'm  told  it's  a  brutal  game),  and  now 
I  hear  he's  on  the  high  road  to  great  wealth.  They  tell 
me  too  that  his  good-looking  wife  is  easy-going  and  athletic 
like  himself — that  all  she  thinks  of  is  how  to  amuse  herself 
in  smart  society,  and  that  she  doesn't  care  a  button  for  the 
things  which  have  made  Boston  what  it  is.  Heaven  knows, 
I'm  not  above  being  thrifty,  but  there's  something  in  this 
world  worth  cherishing  besides  dollars  and  cents." 

Having  delivered  this  philippic,  Miss  Chippendale  sat 
back  in  her  easy-chair  and  proceeded  to  cool  herself  with 
a  large  peacock  feather  fan  which  she  habitually  used  to 
screen  her  eyes  from  the  fire. 

"Most  people  think  Beatrice  charming,"  Henry  gallantly 
asserted.  "She  is  the  President  of  the  Columbine  Club." 

"I  dare  say;  she  naturally  would  be.  That's  the  club 
where  the  well-bred  girls  ape  the  ballet  dancers — do  ath 
letic  stunts,  as  I  heard  my  nephew  Arthur  call  them  the 
other  day.  There's  another  case — your  Aunt  Margaret 
couldn't  understand  why  I  refused  to  go  to  see  my  name 
sake  do  a  shadow  dance — kick  her  feet  higher  in  the  air 
than  any  of  the  others.  I  don't  understand  these  modern 
ideas  of  education.  Will  it  help  Georgie  to  obtain  a  hus 
band  ?"  she  inquired  sharply. 

"Very  likely  it  would,  if  the  men  were  permitted  to  look 
on,"  said  Henry  with  a  laugh.  "It's  hygienic — according 
to  the  doctors.  Besides,  it's  a  part  of  the  joy  of  living — the 
modern  protest  against  stifling  one's  emotions."  He  uttered 
the  last  words  wistfully. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  313 

"Look  at  me,  I'm  strong  as  a  horse;  but  I  never  kicked 
my  heels  higher  than  my  head  in  my  life,  and  I  enjoy  life 
tolerably  well,  thank  you."  Miss  Chippendale  spoke  im 
pulsively.  Reflection  prompted  her  to  add:  "But  I  was 
discussing  the  boys,  not  the  girls.  I'm  an  old  woman.  If 
it's  the  modern  way  of  getting  married,  let  them  suit  them 
selves.  I'm  not  abusing  them  or  Chauncey  either.  Didn't 
I  send  him  and  Beatrice  a  handsome  wedding  present— an 
old  solid  silver  soup  tureen  ?  But  if  any  one  pretends  that 
they  have  an  ounce  of  what  I  call  public  spirit  between 
them,  I  know  better." 

"  Georgie  is  sure  to  marry;  she  has  had  lots  of  chances. 
Simply  the  right  man  hasn't  come  along." 

"It's  her  fourth  winter.  She  can't  afford  to  be  too  par 
ticular." 

"Perhaps  you  don't  know  that  Miss  Avery  has  been 
elected  into  the  Columbine  Club?"  Henry  continued,  pre 
sumably  in  further  defence  of  his  cousin's  wife. 

"Priscilla?"  Miss  Chippendale  mused  an  instant. 
"She's  modern,  too— I  admit  it.  What  was  that  you 
called  it — the  joy  of  living?  But  if  she  should  kick  up  her 
heels  it  would  amount  to  something  in  after  life;  she'd 
kick  over  the  traces.  She  wouldn't  execute  a  pas  de  seul 
before  she  was  married  in  order  to  show  how  supple  and 
emancipated  she  was,  and  then  settle  down  to  be  a  clog  on 
her  husband's  spiritual  aspirations.  She  wouldn't  expect 
to  be  decked  with  jewels  and  to  have  three  in-door  men  at 
the  start."  Thereupon  Miss  Chippendale  saturated  her 
handkerchief  with  cologne  from  an  elongated  cut  glass  per 
fume  bottle  and  rubbed  it  against  her  strong  nose. 

"  I  know  she's  very  fond  of  jewels,"  Henry  found  himself 
saying.  "She'd  expect  handsome  ones  sooner  or  later." 

"  Well,  she  would  be  worth  it.  When  did  you  see  her  last  ?  " 


314  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

He  smiled  at  his  aunt's  disregard  of  logic.  "I've  just 
come  from  her  house." 

"  So  it  is  she  who  is  spurring  you  on  to  become  Mayor  of 
Boston." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  the  last  person  Miss  Avery 
would  like  to  see  in  that  position.  She  would  think  of  me 
as  perpetually  picking  flaws." 

"And  that's  what  you  would  do,  Henry.  Would  you 
have  it  otherwise  ?  That's  one  of  the  responsibilities  of  the 
Chippendales — to  pick  flaws.  Men  of  their  sort  used  to  be 
Mayors  of  Boston.  When  your  Uncle  Harrison  tells  me, 
as  he  sometimes  does,  that  the  country  is  going  to  the  devil, 
I  say  to  him, { Harrison,  you're  a  croaker;  shut  up;  I  know 
better.'  But  as  to  the  city — if  I  stop  to  consider  that  when 
I  was  a  girl,  the  Irish  were  busy  laying  the  sewers  and 
water  pipes  and  the  only  Italians  were  the  organ  grinders 
— I  don't  know  exactly  what  to  think." 

"Perfectly  true,  Aunt  Georgiana.  But  it's  the  duty  of 
the  younger  generation  to  try  to  look  on  the  bright  side  of 
things."  He  glanced  involuntarily  as  he  spoke  at  the  win 
dow,  for  her  words  brought  back  the  glittering  tide  of  life 
which  lay  beyond  the  tree-tops.  But  it  was  no  moment  for 
entertaining  such  qualms  or  perplexities.  Besides,  had  he 
not  banished  them  both  from  the  lexicon  of  his  youth  and 
resolved  to  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel?  "You  partly 
guessed  the  truth,"  he  continued.  "Miss  Avery  is  respon 
sible  for  my  decision  to  enter  politics ;  but  not  for  the  rea 
sons  you  suppose.  I  intend  to  prove  to  her  in  that  way  that 
a  great  friend  of  hers — a  man  in  whom  you  also  have  con 
fidence — is — er — an  over-estimated  person.  I  intend, 
sooner  or  later,  to  show  that  Hugh  McD.  Blaisdell  is  doing 
his  best  to  contaminate  Boston." 

Miss  Chippendale  sat  up  straight  in  her  easy-chair. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  315 

11  Don't  tell  me,  dear,  that  Blaisdell  is  a  scamp.  We  know 
nothing  as  to  his  antecedents — I've  always  said  that." 

"Not  in  a  money  sense.  It's  not  the  proper  word  in  any 
sense.  I've  no  reason  to  doubt  that  he  is  an  excellent  per 
son  to  consult  as  to  your  investments." 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that.  You  gave  me  a  scare.  Only 
the  other  day  I  heard  him  quoted  as  saying  that  Electric 
Coke  will  soon  sell  at  $1,000  a  share."  She  rubbed  her 
nose  again  with  her  saturated  handkerchief.  "What  is 
the  matter  with  him,  then?" 

"He  is  lowering  all  our  standards." 

Miss  Chippendale  frowned.  "We  can't  let  an  outsider 
do  that.  Tell  me  exactly  what  you  have  discovered,"  she 
asked,  folding  her  arms. 

Henry  regarded  her  almost  piteously.  "I  know  you 
believe  in  ideals,  Aunt  Georgiana." 

"Naturally,  child.  All  the  Chippendales — even  Baxter 
— are  idealists  at  heart." 

"I  knew  you  did — and  that's  why  I  say  please  don't  ask 
me  now.  I  could  tell  you  little  things — but  they're  all  little 
things  at  present.  I  can't  prove  anything  definite.  But 
it's  true — fundamentally  true.  Priscilla — Miss  A\  ery  and 
I  Lave  been  at  odds  over  the  matter  all  the  afternoon.  But 
she  has  given  me  time  to  prove  what  I  have  said,  and  you 
must." 

His  worried  yet  exalted  earnestness  was  of  the  sort  which 
his  listener  prized ;  it  savored  of  her  most  precious  associa 
tions.  "You  ought  to  know,  Henry.  On  the  surface  the 
man  has  impressed  me  as — er — almost  a  public  benefactor, 
and  Priscilla  swears  by  him;  but  if  it's  true  that  he  is  under 
mining  our  standards,  it  must  be  stopped,  and  stopped  at 
once.  I  shall  keep  my  eyes  open." 

"Undermining  is  the  very  word,"  he  cried  joyously. 


316  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

His  enthusiasm  was  contagious,  and  the  inherent  faith 
which  she  had  in  her  kinsman  was  rapidly  transforming 
Miss  Georgiana  into  a  zealous  ally.  "Til  back  you  up, 
Henry,"  she  declared.  "And  I  shan't  be  surprised  a  bit  if 
you're  right." 

Henry  beamed.  "That's  just  like  you,  Aunt  Georgiana. 
Most  people  would  think  I  was  nothing  but  a  crank.  But 
I  was  sure  you'd  understand." 

She  deprecated  his  gratitude  by  a  brusque  nod.  "It 
sometimes  takes  a  Chippendale  to  understand  a  Chippen 
dale.  But  if  I'm  not  to  ask  questions  which  I'm  burning 
to  have  answered,  you  must  promise  me  to  try  raw  eggs." 

Henry  agreed  to  do  so.  At  this  juncture  high  tea  was 
announced,  and  not  long  after  this  repast  was  over,  his 
aunt  gave  unmistakable  signs  of  falling  asleep  in  her  chair. 
Now  and  then,  however,  she  would  rouse  herself  with  the 
air  of  hastily  wishing  to  conceal  something,  and  during  one 
of  these  waking  periods  he  managed  to  slip  away  without 
awakening  her  suspicions  that  he  knew.  A  false  step,  as 
he  was  aware,  might  have  ruined  all.  So  much  experience 
had  taught  him.  He  carried  away  in  his  pocket-book  a 
cheque  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  The  amount  was 
larger  than  ever  before,  but  it  was  no  new  experience. 
Miss  Chippendale  was  in  the  habit  of  making  what  might 
be  termed  surreptitious  gifts  to  the  one  or  more  of  her 
nephews  and  nieces  who  happened  to  be  her  favorites  at 
the  moment. 

Henry  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  explain  to  his 
aunt  that  she  had  given  a  narrower  construction  to  his  use 
of  the  word  "politics"  than  he  had  intended,  and  that  what 
he  had  in  mind  was  a  closer  touch  with  the  practical  affairs 
of  the  community  rather  than  that  sort  of  activity  which  is 
crowned  by  office.  Yet  he  had  made  clear  that  his  objective 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  317 

was  to  show  up  Blaisdell  in  what  he  believed  to  be  his  true 
colors.  It  was  a  personal  surprise  to  him,  however,  that 
the  residuum  left  from  the  conflicting  emotions  of  that 
Sunday  afternoon  should  be  the  reverse  of  an  impulse 
toward  compromise.  He  still  dwelt  on  the  necessity  of  a 
wider  knowledge  and  a  broader  sympathy  on  his  part;  but 
not  at  the  cost  of  the  faith  in  which  he  had  been  nurtured. 
He  rejoiced  that  an  outward  breach  between  himself  and 
Priscilla  had  been  averted,  through  what  he  admitted  to 
have  been  her  magnanimity;  but  he  realized  with  growing 
—yes,  with  glowing  satisfaction — that  the  clash  had  clari 
fied  his  own  vision  and  thereby  put  an  end  to  the  series 
of  equivocations  by  which  he  had  hypnotized  his  con 
science  in  order  to  win  her  favor.  The  plausible  plea  in 
both  their  minds  had  been  his  own  regeneration,  and  up 
to  a  certain  point  it  had  been  justified.  But  the  limit  had 
been  reached;  latterly  had  been  over-stepped.  Hencefor 
ward,  right  should  be  right  and  wrong  wrong,  and  he  would 
cease  to  juggle  with  eternal  principles.  His  only  hope  of 
propitiating  his  late  preceptress  now  was  by  domination, 
not  by  yielding. 

On  her  side  Priscilla  continued  to  wonder  why  she 
had  let  his  denunciation  of  Blaisdell  pass  without  more 
serious  consequences  to  their  personal  relations.  Instead 
of  bitterly  resenting  his  vague  aspersions  as  an  unpardon 
able  offence,  which  rendered  further  intimacy  impossible, 
she  had  allowed  herself  to  dismiss  him  on  the  under 
standing  that  he  would  be  free  to  return  on  a  friendly 
footing  during  the  period  in  which  he  was  endeavoring 
to  make  good  his  anonymous  charges.  Indignation 
prompted  her  to  terminate  the  established  truce.  But 
such  a  change  of  front  would  expose  her  to  the  taunt  of 
not  knowing  her  own  mind — of  not  being  able  to  act  con- 


318  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

sistently  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  a  trait  on  which  she 
prided  herself.  Reflection  revealed  to  her — though  her 
first  impulse  was  to  stifle  it  as  uncanny — that  curiosity 
was  really  the  agent  which  held  her  wrath  in  suspension. 
The  accusation,  though  lacking  utterly  in  essential  detail, 
had  fulminated  a  charge  which  was  dumbfounding  in  its 
directness.  It  was  outrageously  false — and  yet  the  remem 
brance  of  the  censor's  tense,  almost  impassioned,  delivery 
lingered  and  demanded  tribute  of  her  candor.  Was  such 
a  diatribe  to  be  dismissed  without  investigation  ?  If  she 
were  cherishing  a  delusion,  why  should  she  wait  to  be  en 
lightened  by  Henry  ?  On  the  other  hand,  the  interval  for 
which  he  had  stipulated  would  afford  her  also  an  oppor 
tunity  to  accumulate  proofs  wherewith  to  refute  this  mon 
strous  calumny.  Surely  a  more  watchful  attitude  of  mind 
toward  her  brother-in-law  would  imply  no  lack  of  loyalty. 
As  for  her  own  shortcomings,  they  had  been  thrust  in  the 
background.  Moreover,  Henry  had  appeared  to  be  blind 
to  them.  She  could  not  enjoy  even  the  melancholy  pleasure 
of  self-defence,  and  without  this  tonic  there  seemed  to  be 
no  escape  from  her  previous  postulate,  that  she  had  been 
treading  on  thin  ice  and  that  it  behooved  her  to  retire  to 
firmer  social  ground.  In  this  connection  it  was  convenient 
on  the  whole  that  no  breach  had  taken  place  in  her  rela 
tions  with  Henry  Sumner,  for  such  a  state  of  affairs 
would  have  cut  her  off  from  opportunities  (which  she  was 
beginning  to  covet)  of  further  association  with  his  mother's 
circle.  Since  their  meeting  at  the  Art  Museum  the  social 
olive  branch  tendered  by  Mrs.  Sumner  had  blossomed  not 
only  in  the  form  of  two  invitations  to  dinner  at  the  Beacon 
Street  house,  which  she  had  accepted,  but  by  more  cir 
cuitous  signs  of  approbation — chiefly  notice  from  more 
or  less  interesting  people — which  she  had  ultimately 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  319 

traced  to  the  same  source.  Neither  of  the  dinners  was  so 
dull  as  she  had  chosen  to  believe  would  be  the  case.  The 
first  was  ceremonious,  comprising  a  company  of  twelve. 
Having  been  delicately  given  to  understand  by  her  hostess 
that  the  entertainment  was  virtually  in  her  honor,  Pris- 
cilla  had  assumed  that  she  would  be  obliged  to  sit  next  to 
the  son  of  the  house,  but  she  had  found  herself  between 
a  leader  of  cotillons  and  a  rising  local  novelist.  Later  it 
had  dawned  on  her  that  this  self-denial  on  Henry's  part 
was  another  piece  of  delicacy,  to  save  the  feelings  of  one 
to  whom  he  was  so  manifestly  devoted.  Mrs.  Sumner  had 
obviously  (yet  still  delicately)  intended  to  afford  her  a 
comprehensive  glimpse  of  Boston  at  its  best — fashion  and 
literature,  social  elegance  and  high  aims  side  by  side  at  the 
same  table.  The  second  dinner  had  been  almost  a  family 
affair,  the  only  other  guest  being  Mr.  Moore  of  the  Art 
Museum  staff.  The  so-called  informality  of  the  latter 
occasion  was  dignified  by  discussion  which,  starting  with 
the  elective  system  at  Harvard,  had  terminated  in  a  plain 
tive  inquiry  by  her  hostess  as  to  why  the  rising  generation 
neglected  to  read  Scott. 

"Tell  them,  dear  Miss  Avery,  that  you  are  still  faithful 
to  Sir  Walter,"  Mrs.  Sumner  had  exclaimed,  clasping  her 
hands  with  playful  yet  genuine  fervor. 

Neither  entertainment  had  been  hilarious,  but  each  was 
diverting  in  its  way.  Chauncey  Chippendale  and  his  bride 
had  been  among  the  exponents  of  fashion  at  the  first. 
Priscilla  had  gone  home  on  each  occasion  distinctly 
conscious  of  atmosphere.  The  general  conversation, 
though  slightly  subdued  in  tone,  so  that,  in  spite  of  Chaun 
cey,  it  might  be  styled  at  times  august,  had  a  flavor  of  its 
own;  a  something  which  she  recognized  to  be  akin  to  dis 
tinction  and  in  keeping  with  the  Copley  and  Stuart  por- 


320  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

traits  on  the  walls,  the  handsome  cut  glass  and  solid  old- 
fashioned  silver.  She  had  noticed  the  heavy  curiously 
bent  forks  and  spoons  and  the  quaint  decanters — in  one  of 
the  most  venerable  of  which  the  family  Madeira  was  passed 
around  after  dessert.  Mrs.  Sumner  invited  Henry  to  spec 
ify  the  date,  which  he  did  with  becoming  reverence.  Two 
or  three  of  the  men  politely  held  up  their  glasses  to  the 
light  and  spoke  of  the  rain-water  flavor.  But  Chauncey, 
having  sipped  his,  shook  his  head  and  whispered  in 
a  loud  aside:  "A  bottle  of  that  wouldn't  hurt  a  kitten. 
No  one  ever  drinks  Madeira  nowadays  except  from  po 
liteness."  Though  the  upholsteries  and  much  of  the  furni 
ture  dated  back  only  to  the  time  of  the  purchase  of  the 
house  twenty  years  before,  they  were  supplemented  by  a 
host  of  ornaments  and  knick-knacks  of  earlier  date, 
which  gave  to  the  rooms  somewhat  the  aspect  of  a  gay 
museum  when  compared  with  the  space  and  large  effects 
aimed  at  by  the  architects  who  had  furnished  her  father's 
and  Lora's  establishments.  But  the  atmosphere  was  not 
to  be  denied.  While  breathing  it  she  felt  that  she  was  in 
touch  with  an  historic,  if  somewhat  dusty,  past,  and  on  a 
footing  where  she  was  entitled  to  express  opinions  con 
cerning  the  highest  functions  of  the  soul  and  intellect,  and 
to  guess  who  would  be  the  next  president  of  Harvard  Col 
lege.  She  had  not  been  bored;  on  the  contrary,  she  had 
been  edified  and  stimulated  in  spite  of  herself.  Indeed, 
humorous  as  the  condescension  still  seemed  to  her,  she  was 
ready  to  own  that  she  was  grateful  for  her  admission  to 
this  inner  circle.  Had  she  and  Henry  quarrelled,  would 
not  the  upshot  have  been  her  expulsion?  Happily  this 
catastrophe  was  averted,  and,  thanks  to  her  own  forbear 
ance,  she  could  continue  to  enjoy  the  privileges  which  had 
been  thrown  open  to  her. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  321 

If  only  Lora  seemed  happy,  she  felt  that  other  matters 
would  take  care  of  themselves.  The  restoration  of  her 
own  self-respect  could  be  accomplished  under  cover  of  the 
definite  issue  drawn  between  herself  and  Henry,  Even  to 
stigmatize  him  in  her  own  mind  as  a  worm  until  he  had 
been  afforded  a  chance  to  vindicate  himself  would  be 
contrary  to  the  spirit  of  their  understanding.  Her  brother- 
in-law  was  amply  able  to  look  out  for  himself.  He  did 
not  require  a  mentor  or  to  be  put  on  his  guard.  Having 
succeeded  in  stifling  her  wrath — and  later,  her  mirth,  at 
the  absurdity  of  the  issue — was  it  not  incumbent  on  her 
in  the  interests  of  fair  play  to  fold  her  hands  and  become 
an  observant  but  neutral  spectator  until  the  day  of  reckon 
ing  arrived  ?  Clearly  so,  save  for  Lora's  discontent.  The 
growing  evidence  of  this  had  been  apparent  for  some 
time,  but  the  fundamental  cause  of  it  was  not  made 
plain  until  she  happened  one  day,  late  in  the  following 
autumn,  to  mention  to  her  sister  that  she  had  received 
a  card  to  the  Puritan  balls.  Then,  in  a  flash,  sundry 
suspicions  of  hers  were  confirmed  and  the  true  solution 
revealed.  Priscilla  had  noticed  that  the  morning  post 
which  brought  her  own  invitation  did  not  contain  cards 
for  her  father  and  mother;  but  she  had  taken  no 
umbrage  at  this.  They  were  elderly  people,  and  doubtless 
the  managers  had  assumed  that  she  would  accompany  her 
sister.  It  was  for  the  purpose  of  stating  that  she  would  be 
glad  to  go  under  Lora's  wing  that  she  broached  the  matter 
next  day,  and  when  she  heard  that  no  invitations  had  been 
received  by  the  Blaisdells,  her  first  thought  was  that  there 
must  be  some  mistake.  She  assured  Lora  that  the  cards 
would  arrive  by  a  subsequent  mail.  The  latter  shook  her 
head ;  it  was  plain  that  she  was  discomfited,  but  she  waited 
thirty-six  hours  before  admitting  the  slight.  She  had  come 


322  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

to  take  luncheon  with  her  mother  and  Priscilla,  and  almost 
her  first  words  were  to  ask  to  look  at  the  engraved  invita 
tion.  Having  examined  it  for  some  moments,  she  passed 
it  back  to  her  sister  with  the  words : 

"It's  just  as  I  supposed;  they've  left  us  out." 

The  optimistic  Mrs.  Avery  still  avowedly  cherished  the 
hope  that  the  cards  had  miscarried,  but  Lora  sternly  re 
torted,  "That's  ridiculous,  mama.  It's  perfectly  clear 
that  we  were  deliberately  excluded.  You  and  Mr.  Avery, 
too.  Priscilla  is  the  only  one  of  the  family  who  appears  to 
be  good  enough  for  them.  I'd  set  my  heart  on  being  asked 
— I  don't  care  if  I  do  say  so." 

Priscilla  flushed,  for  the  allusion  to  herself  had  an  unde 
niably  bitter  sound,  and  this  was  the  first  time  in  their  ex 
perience  as  sisters  that  Lora  had  shown  envy  of  her.  At 
the  same  time  the  genuineness  of  the  disappointment  re 
vealed  by  the  naive  concluding  words  made  her  heart 
bleed.  But  her  step-mother  sprang  into  the  breach, 
seeking  instinctively  to  pour  oil  on  the  troubled  waters  with 
one  hand  and  to  anoint  her  daughter's  wounds  with  the 
other. 

"Mr.  Avery  would  never  go  to  a  ball  unless  he  were 
dragged  by  main  force,  so  an  invitation  would  have  been 
wasted  on  me.  And  the  probable  reason  why  a  card  was 
sent  to  Priscilla  is  that  her  friend,  Henry  Sumner,  asked 
for  one.  Of  course  she  knows  some  of  those  people — like 
the  Chippendales — rather  better  than  you  do,  dear." 

"I'm  aware  of  that;  you  needn't  rub  it  in,  mama. 
But  these  are  subscription  balls,  and — and  seeing  that 
they  must  have  known  I  would  like  to  go  and  that  Hugh  is 
one  of  the  richest  and  most  influential  men  in  the  entire 
city " 

Lora  bit  her  lip  to  stay  the  tears  welling  into  her  eyes, 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  323 

a  drop  from  which  suddenly  falling  on  the  front  of  her 
electric-blue  waist  caused  her  to  pause  and  wipe  the  silk 
facing.  She  was  wearing  a  brand  new  costume  of  the  lat 
est  cut  and  very  becoming.  So  her  glass  told  her  and  the 
dressmaker  had  declared.  The  jacket  was  gaily  set  off  with 
silver  braid,  which  reappeared  in  her  blue  velvet  bonnet 
in  which  two  snowy  plumes  waved  jauntily. 

Mrs.  Avery  stared  in  disconcerted  surprise.  She  had 
hoped  her  words  would  prove  a  triumphant  panacea,  and 
it  did  not  now  occur  to  her  not  to  persevere  along  the  same 
line  of  thought.  "  Since  you  feel  so  strongly,  dear — and  it 
is  certainly  very  peculiar  and  unjust  that  Hugh  and  you 
should  not  be  included — I  dare  say  Priscilla  will  be  willing 
to  ask  Mr.  Sumner  for  a  card.  She  could  say  that  we  sup 
posed  it  was  an  oversight." 

In  her  eagerness  to  obtain  the  boon  which  the  hitherto 
generous  fish  had  capriciously  withheld,  Lor  a  grasped  at 
this  straw  by  turning  her  eyes  toward  her  sister  as  if  to 
ascertain  what  the  other  thought  of  the  suggestion. 

The  idea  of  applying  to  Henry,  of  all  men,  for  an  in 
vitation  for  Blaisdell  was  necessarily  appalling  to  Priscilla. 
But  she  endeavored  to  conceal  her  confusion  by  replying 
immediately:  "It  wouldn't  do  at  all.  I  feel  sure  that  Mr. 
Sumner  didn't  ask  for  a  card  for  me  and  had  nothing  to  do 
with  its  being  sent.  I  doubt  very  much  if  he  will  go— he  is 
very  busy  and  large  balls  are  not  much  in  his  line— 
and  I'm  positive  that  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  man 
agement  of  these.  But  the  real  point  is  that,  if  you're  not 
invited,  I'm  not  going.  They  can't  have  me  and  leave  you 
out.  I  can't  imagine  why  they  have  left  you  all  out — but 
since  this  appears  to  be  the  case,  you  surely  don't  wish  to 
ask  for  an  invitation,  as  if  it  were  a  favor.  If  I've  a  right 
to  go,  so  have  you  and  Hugh,  and  since  you're  not  included, 


324  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

that  settles  the  matter  for  me.     Your  friends  are  my 
friends." 

Priscilla  had  been  talking  very  rapidly,  like  one  sure  of 
the  course  which  she  was  bent  on  following.  As  she  fin 
ished  she  picked  up  the  invitation  card  which  lay  beside 
her  on  the  table-cloth  and  tore  it  deliberately  into  little 
bits.  Thereupon  she  rose  and  threw  the  pieces  into  the 
fireplace. 

This  was  done  so  summarily  that  for  a  moment  there 
was  silence.  As  Priscilla  resumed  her  seat  her  step-mother 
murmured:  "Have  you  really  burnt  it  up?  Your  new 
yellow  satin  would  have  been  just  the  thing.  And  it  might 
still  be  an  oversight.  But  of  course,  you  girls  should  stand 
together." 

"It  was  splendid  of  her,  mama,  and  the  only  thing  to 
do.  She  doesn't  care  to  go  if  I  can't,  and  I  don't  wish  her 
to  go  without  me."  Lora's  voice  quavered,  but  Priscilla's 
speech  had  given  her  the  moral  support  which  she  needed. 
She  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  little  lace  handkerchief,  and, 
compressing  it  into  a  ball,  continued:  "As  you  just  said, 
Priscilla,  they  must  take  us  all,  or  they  can't  have  any  of 
us,  and  if  they  don't  choose  to  do  it  now,  the  day  will  come 
when  they'll  have  to." 

Priscilla  gravely  considered  for  a  moment  this  truculent 
assertion.  The  note  of  defiance  which  she  had  evoked  was 
so  entirely  out  of  harmony  with  her  own  purpose  in  de 
stroying  the  invitation  that  she  could  not  forbear  to 
exclaim : 

"My  idea  was  that  we  should  do  without  them  alto 
gether.  Let  us  stick  to  our  friends,  and — and  form  our 
own  society." 

"That's  the  wise  and  sensible  thing,"  ejaculated  Mrs. 
A  very.  "  I  often  tell  Lora  that  there  are  lots  of  people  who 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  325 

are  just  dying  to  come  to  our  house  whenever  we  ask 
them." 

"We  will  henceforth,"  said  Lora  with  emphasis.  But 
her  elation  was  only  momentary.  As  she  sat  in  silence,  her 
countenance  clearly  disclosed  that  the  restorative  provided 
had  not  brought  back  her  equanimity.  Suddenly  she 
looked  at  her  step-sister  and  said : 

"  But  for  me  you  would  have  gone  to  the  Puritan  balls, 
wouldn't  you?" 

"If  we  could  have  gone  together — very  likely." 

"Leave  me  out  of  the  question;  that's  not  the  point. 
And  why  would  you  care  to  go?" 

Priscilla,  momentarily  nonplussed,  recognized  and  for 
an  instant  shrank  from  the  directness  of  Lora's  mental 
processes.  The  latter  took  advantage  of  the  slight  hesita 
tion  to  supply  the  stark  answer.  "Isn't  it  because  they 
are  the  most  fashionable  in  the  city?  The  ones  to  which 
people  who  are  not  in  society  are  not  invited  ?" 

"I  had  not  thought  of  them  in  that  light.  The  people 
who  get  them  up  may  think  them  so.  But  in  a  city  as 
large  as  this — an  American  city — there  are  various  sets, 
and  each  set  has  its  entertainments  and  each  has  a  right, 
if  it  chooses,  to  think  that  its  entertainments  are  the  most 
select." 

Priscilla  had  started  off  famously,  sure  of  her  footing, 
but  she  had  already  begun  to  be  conscious  of  floundering 
when  Lora's  relentless  logic  cut  her  short. 

"According  to  that  reasoning  you  ought  to  be  just  as 
eager  to  attend  the  annual  ball  of  the  United  Order  of 
Washerwomen  as  any  other." 

"That  would  be  going  too  far,  Lora,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Avery.  Yet  some  compunctions  on  the  score  of  an  appar 
ent  faithlessness  to  democratic  ideals  doubtless  led  her  to 


326  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

add:  "I  knew  of  a  case,  however,  before  I  came  east,  of  a 
very  rich  man  who  did  marry  his  laundress,  and  I  believe 
the  match  has  turned  out  remarkably  well." 

"If  they  happened  to  be  my  friends,  I  should  be  more 
than  eager.  That's  the  one  I  should  pick  out  first  of  all," 
answered  Priscilla,  so  intent  for  the  moment  on  defending 
her  improvised  philosophy  that  she  did  not  realize  until 
too  late  that  she  was  merely  providing  Lora  with  a  fresh 
opening. 

"And  suppose  you  wished  them  to  be  your  friends  and 
—and  they  excluded  you  ?  Excluded  you  and  invited  your 
sister  instead?  If  Henry  Sumner  didn't  suggest  your 
name,  somebody  did,  and  you  agree  that  if  we  had  both 
been  asked  you  would  have  accepted  gladly.  But  the  same 
people,  whoever  they  were,  distinguished  between  us— and 
these  happen  to  be  the  balls  which  I  had  picked  out  to  go 
to.  You  know  that  perfectly  well,  Priscilla,  and  there's 
no  use  in  beating  about  the  bush  and  talking  about  wash 
erwomen  or  even  salesladies." 

Priscilla  found  herself  blushing  at  this  retort.  To  beat 
about  the  bush  was  the  reverse  of  her  habit  of  mind,  and 
she  realized  that,  in  her  effort  to  be  consoling,  she  had  been 
convicted  by  Lora  of  indulging  in  amiable  platitudes  and 
of  having  failed  to  bring  down  even  a  sparrow  for  the  sus 
tenance  of  her  hungry  sister.  Moreover,  in  her  secret  heart 
she  felt  not  only  wounded  because  the  others  had  been 
left  out,  but  regretful  on  her  own  account.  The  difference 
of  opinion  with  Henry  Sumner  had  left  matters  substan 
tially  as  they  were,  but  this  fresh  discord — being  in  the 
nature  of  an  overt  act  of  hostility— threatened  to  separate 
her  from  her  new  friends.  She  recognized  that  it  would  be 
inconsistent  with  Lora's  characteristics  to  submit  tamely  to 
being  deprived  of  anything  on  which  her  heart  was  set. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  327 

It  would  have  been  such  a  small  matter  to  invite  them. 
Why  had  they  been  excluded  ?  But  for  the  circumstance 
of  Henry's  avowed  antipathy,  it  would  have  seemed  the 
natural  thing  to  ask  him  for  an  invitation  and  to  assume 
that  her  request  would  be  granted.  Yet  it  was  scarcely 
fair  without  more  evidence  to  charge  their  exclusion  solely 
to  his  account.  The  unpleasant  thought  insinuated  itself 
that  his  opinion  must  be  shared  by  others — others  whose 
point  of  view  was  more  or  less  similar  to  his  own.  What 
was  there  in  the  Blaisdells  or  her  step-mother  which  justi 
fied  the  cold  shoulder  ?  Priscilla,  as  she  put  this  question 
to  herself  for  a  second  time,  took  a  critical  look  at  both  of 
her  companions.  Undeniably  there  was  a  certain  dif 
ference  between  them  and  women  like  Mrs.  Sumner  and 
Miss  Chippendale.  In  what  did  it  consist?  Lota  and 
Mrs.  Avery  were  certainly  more  stylishly  dressed;  more 
cordial  and  spontaneous  in  their  manners.  And  even 
if  they  had  a  tendency  to  overdress — perhaps  Lora,  at  any 
rate,  was  too  conspicuously  elaborate  in  her  toilette — this 
was  scarcely  an  unpardonable  fault,  especially  as  the 
younger  generation,  women  like  Mrs.  Staunton  Townsend 
and  Chauncey  Chippendale's  bride,  were  much  smarter  in 
appearance  than  their  elders. 

Yet  she  could  not  claim  that  her  relatives  exactly  re 
sembled  these  women  either.  Mere  surface  differences. 
Priscilla  clutched  at  the  phrase.  These  were  superficial- 
unimportant.  Was  too  much  cordiality  of  manner  an  un 
forgivable  social  blemish?  Not  they — so  she  chose  to 
decide — were  seriously  at  fault,  but  Blaisdell,  if  any  one. 
Henry  Sumner  had  not  spoken  of  Lora;  he  had  directed 
his  entire  charge  against  Blaisdell.  It  was  his  standards 
and  his  alone  which  were  contaminating  Boston.  For  an 
instant  her  confidence  in  her  brother-in-law  quickened 


328  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

Priscilla's  pulses.  If  it  were  solely  on  his  account  that  the 
invitation  had  been  withheld,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  either  envy  or  narrow-mindedness  had  inspired  the 
slur.  She  rejoiced  for  a  brief  moment,  in  the  next  she 
stole  a  second  glance  at  her  step-sister.  Her  gaze 
lingered  on  Lora's  gay  plumage — her  many  rings  and 
rather  ostentatious  lace  handkerchief;  she  recalled  her 
cigarette  smoking.  Could  it  be  that  Blaisdell  was  the  vic 
tim — the  unwitting  victim  of  his  wife's  lack  of  social  deli 
cacy?  Priscilla  stared  at  the  thought  and  somehow- 
startling  as  it  was— she  found  it  comforting.  If  true,  it 
explained  many  things.  Then  suddenly  she  remembered 
again  that  the  uncompromising  Henry  Sumner  had  not 
opened  a  single  crack  for  the  entertainment  of  such  an 
hypothesis.  It  was  she  herself  who  had  chosen  to  discover 
and  peep  through  this  door  and  to  imagine  that  she  saw 
something.  It  was  obviously  her  sisterly  duty  to  close  it 
firmly  and  to  throw  away  the  key.  For  otherwise  she 
would  be  between  two  fires. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  suggestion  that  they  were  not  accorded  free  admis 
sion  to  the  society  where  his  wife  desired  to  figure  cast  a 
shadow  over  BlaisdelPs  ordinary  serenity.  It  was  the  first 
check  he  had  ever  received,  and  it  rankled  none  the  less 
because  he  was  personally  indifferent  to  the  privileges 
which  had  been  withheld  from  them.  Social  prominence 
was  one  of  the  logical  results  of  success;  and  in  encourag 
ing  the  partner  of  his  hearth  to  cultivate  it,  he  had  taken 
for  granted  that  the  fruit  of  this  tree  when  ripe  would  fall 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  329 

into  her  apron  as  often  as  she  shook  the  boughs.  He  had 
later  perceived,  as  he  supposed,  that  her  lap  was  already 
overflowing,  and  it  was  a  shock  to  him  to  be  informed  that 
what  he  had  believed  to  be  a  genuine  product  were  nothing 
but  dead  sea  apples.  But  Lora  had  made  clear  to  him  his 
misapprehension,  and,  as  was  characteristic  of  him  when 
ever  anything  became  of  paramount  importance,  he  began 
to  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  ways  and  means  to  ameliorate 
the  situation.  There  were  certain  situations  which  could  be 
remedied  by  prompt,  drastic  methods — a  pouncing  down 
on  the  refractory  or  a  fastening  of  the  thumb-screws  on  the 
ungrateful;  but  Blaisdell,  after  forty-eight  hours  of  cogi 
tation,  sensibly  decided  that  this  was  not  one  of  them. 
Nothing  could  be  done  here  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  or 
by  a  sudden  show  of  superior  force.  He  must  bide  his 
time  and  keep  his  temper.  He  must  even  for  the  moment 
conceal  his  feelings  and  display  toward  those  whom  he 
held  to  blame  his  habitual  urbanity. 

For  Blaisdell  this  was  an  agreeable  conclusion.  By 
nature  he  deplored  discord  in  any  form,  and,  though  he 
realized  that  the  time  had  come  to  take  account  of  stock, 
as  he  termed  it,  and  ascertain  who  were  his  friends,  or 
rather,  his  secret  enemies,  he  was  relieved  to  feel  that  a  cir 
cumspect  instead  of  an  openly  aggressive  policy  was  de 
manded  of  him.  To  pull  any  one's  nose  would  simply 
result  in  scandal.  Such  things  were  out  of  date,  like  duels. 
And  as  for  vengeance — the  modern  Monte  Cristo  could 
not  afford  to  imitate  the  sensational  one-two-three  meth 
ods  of  his  predecessor.  And  yet  this  did  not  signify  that 
he  had  rejected  Lora's  hint  of  retaliation.  Slights  of  the 
kind  instanced  by  her  were  not  to  be  endured.  Some  sure 
means  must  be  found  both  to  confound  those  who  had 
affronted  her  and  to  obtain  for  her  all  which  she  desired. 


330  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

But  he  would  prefer  to  bring  this  to  pass  with  a  smile  on 
his  face,  as  if  it  followed  logically  and  neither  violently  nor 
disagreeably  from  what  had  gone  before.  The  natural  se 
quence  of  events  should  justify  him — the  survival  of  the 
fittest.  What  would  it  be  but  this?  He  rolled  the  stock 
phrase  over  on  his  lips,  for  it  seemed  trebly  illuminating 
now  that  it  fitted  his  individual  case.  The  days  of  pistols, 
foils  and  arsenic  were  over.  What  surer  weapon  of  ven 
geance  than  the  power  to  take  advantage  of  industrial 
opportunities,  the  boa  constrictor-like  triumph  of  enlight 
ened  common-sense  garnished  with  good  nature  ? 

The  affair  of  the  Puritan  balls,  now  that  he  understood 
the  matter,  had  the  appearance  of  a  slight — and  doubly  so- 
in  Lora's  eyes  because  Priscilla  had  been  invited.  Blais- 
dell  recalled  with  satisfaction  that  the  latter  had  torn  her 
card  to  pieces.  She  had  sided  with  them — but  neverthe 
less,  she  had  not  been  excluded.  The  explanation  which  he 
had  offered  to  Lora  had  seemed  satisfactory  at  the  time. 
He  had  recalled  since  that,  though  Priscilla  was  remotely 
of  the  stock  of  these  old  families  who  had  preferred  her 
to  his  wife,  she  had  never  courted  their  recognition;  on 
the  contrary,  she  had  appeared  distinctly  scornful  of  her 
birthright.  She  was  so  little  like  them  that  it  seemed 
improbable  that  the  attraction  had  been  this  remnant  of 
her  inherited  qualities.  Unless,  to  be  sure,  it  was  because 
Lora  was  his  wife,  why  should  they  discriminate  between 
them. 

As  he  pondered  the  inquiry,  BlaisdelPs  acumen  halted 
suddenly  before  this  disturbing  thought:  Could  it  be  that 
Lora  on  her  side  lacked  something  which  Priscilla  pos 
sessed.  Was  this  the  obstacle  ?  He  revolted  instinctively 
at  the  impish  suggestion.  His  gallantry  and  pride  sprang 
forward  as  champions  of  his  wife.  With  a  flash  of  his 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  331 

mind's  eye  he  reviewed  her  social  behavior  and  scrutinized 
her  personality.  He  was  able  to  detect  nothing.  Neverthe 
less,  the  next  moment  he  found  himself  placing  her  and 
Priscilla  side  by  side  in  his  mental  gallery.  It  was  not  a 
new  proceeding  on  his  part.  From  the  first  hour  of  their 
acquaintance  he  had  known  which  he  preferred,  but  ever 
since  he  had  felt  the  impulse  occasionally  to  compare  them. 
Shortly  after  his  marriage  it  had  been  for  the  purpose  of 
applauding  his  own  judgment,  and  subsequently  from 
time  to  time  he  had  paused  deliberately  to  note  the  differ 
ence  between  them  and  congratulate  himself  on  the  sound 
ness  of  his  choice.  But  the  very  habit  of  placing  them  side 
by  side  had  been  a  semi-conscious  admission  that  each 
was  admirable  in  her  way — that  but  for  the  one  he  would 
have  chosen  the  other.  Hence  the  second  impish  ques 
tion  which  popped  out  at  him  like  a  jack  in  the  box :  If 
it  had  been  Priscilla  instead  of  Lora,  would  the  social 
consequences  have  been  different  ? 

Again  Blaisdell  recoiled.  But  the  very  practical  thought 
that  he  was  the  husband  of  the  one  and  not  the  other,  en 
abled  him  to  confront  the  retreating  imp  with  the  brow 
of  a  philosopher.  They  were  the  antipodes  of  each  other 
certainly.  A  woman  like  that — and  as  he  gazed  he  called 
before  him  Priscilla' s  glowing  yet  stately  presence — had 
undeniably  certain  qualities  to  recommend  her;  qualities 
which,  to  an  ambitious  man  of  the  modern  sort,  eager  to 
conquer  the  world  at  every  point,  might  prove  invaluable. 
Comfortable  in  the  sense  that  Lora  was,  she  never  could 
be;  and  yet  having  granted  this,  he  deliberately  faced  again 
for  a  moment — and  the  experience  piqued  him  a  little — 
the  surmise  that  were  this  throbbing  being  in  Lora's  shoes, 
the  gates,  which  now  were  barred,  would  have  swung  open 
at  his  nod.  Here  was  one  of  the  covert  thoughts  of  life; 


332  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

a  discovery  from  which  Blaisdell  in  his  capacity  of  chal 
lenger  of  destiny  did  not  shrink,  but  one  which  his  tem 
perament  the  next  moment  made  the  best  of.  Were  he 
to  choose  again— it  would  still  be  Lora;  he  went  so  far  as 
to  assert  this  to  himself,  and  at  the  loyal  words  the  imp 
vanished.  Then  he  added  staunchly  that,  if  his  wife 
lacked  the  art  to  enforce  their  mutual  rights,  he  would  do 
it  for  her  If  he  had  fallen  short  in  his  mastery  of  fate, 
fate  should  never  suspect  that  he  knew,  and  in  the  end 
the  result  would  be  just  the  same— Lora  triumphant,  and 
all  the  dearer  because  she  owed  it  to  himself. 

As  the  matter  thus  shaped  itself  in  his  mind  and  he 
turned  again  to  consider  who  were  his  enemies,  he  speedily 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  Lora's  shrewdness  had  not 
been  at  fault  in  laying  the  responsibility  for  the  slight  at 
the  door  of  the  Chippendale  connection.  What  was  the 
motive  of  their  hostility?  For  a  cold  shoulder  was  equiva 
lent  to  this.  Lora  insisted  that  Mrs.  Harrison  Chippen 
dale  had  never  forgiven  them  for  buying  the  Common 
wealth  Avenue  house.  The  idea  was  rather  amusing,  if 
true.  He  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Chippendale  and  he  knew 
her  husband  only  by  sight— a  slim,  dignified,  elderly  gen 
tleman  with  an  unfashionable  hat  brim  and  a  leisurely 
walk,  as  if  time  were  no  object.  He  had  been  pointed  out 
to  him  as  one  of  the  Brahmins  of  Boston— but  obviously 
a  decayed  Brahmin.  Whatever  his  past,  he  was  no  longer 
important  except  as  a  relic;  he  had  ceased  to  count  as  a 
real  force,  for  he  was  too  old  to  begin  with,  and  he  had 
lost  most  of  his  property.  According  to  modern  standards, 
it  had  never  amounted  to  much  in  his  palmiest  days. 
Unless  these  people  resembled  a  vindictive  clan,  retaliation 
for  such  a  cause  could  scarcely  have  been  carried  so  far. 
Was  he  not  on  joking  terms  with  Mr.  Chippendale's 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  333 

sister,  Miss  Georgiana  ?  And  in  the  habit  of  meeting  the 
other  brother — the  more  level-headed,  taciturn  one — at 
directors'  meetings  on  State  Street  ?  As  for  Mrs.  Sumner 
and  Henry,  Lora  had  assured  him  that  they  were  not  to 
blame  in  this  instance.  They  belonged  to  the  clan,  but 
the  entire  clan  was  moribund.  There  was  only  one  live 
person  in  it — live  in  a  practical,  modern  sense — Mr. 
Chippendale's  son,  Chauncey. 

On  the  surface,  at  all  events,  Chauncey  was  not  hostile. 
He  was  invariably  smiling  and  affable  down- town.  When 
they  met  it  was  apt  to  be  Hugh  and  Chauncey.  They  sat 
at  various  financial  boards  together,  and  were  addicted  to 
rallying  each  other — chiefly  on  the  subject  of  Electric 
Coke.  Banter  was  this  young  man's  social  asset,  and  he, 
though  his  senior,  had  met  him  half-way.  But  Chauncey, 
though  a  little  light,  and  somewhat  dandified  in  his  dress, 
had  worked  hard  and  shown  himself  capable  of  holding 
on  to  the  little  he  had  and  increasing  it.  He  had  had  the 
sense  or  the  luck  to  marry  a  daughter  of  the  head  of  the 
firm — another  Brahmin,  elderly  too,  but  by  virtue  of  his 
occupation  still  in  the  running.  What  was  the  motive  which 
had  induced  General  Langdon  and  his  son-in-law  to  ex 
clude  him  and  his  wife  from  the  nuptials  and  emphasize 
the  discrimination  by  the  later  more  direct  affront  ?  What 
could  it  be  but  sheer  envy  ?  Envy  of  his  capacity  for  con 
trol,  envy  of  his  great  wealth.  It  might  be  that  the  old  peo 
ple  could  not  forget  that  his  roof  had  once  been  theirs; 
but  with  Chauncey — Chauncey,  the  man  of  the  world,  son 
and  heir — this  could  not  be  the  real  reason.  He  and  his 
coterie,  no  longer  the  mere  clan,  but  all  their  tribe — were 
afraid  of  being  dispossessed  in  a  wider  sense  if  they  let  him 
in.  And  so  the  word  had  been  whispered  from  mouth  to 
mouth  that  their  caste  must  be  protected  from  invasion. 


334  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

It  was  a  case  of  decaying  Brahminism  with  its  pride  and 
narrow  prejudices  seeking  to  stem  the  current  of  new  and 
redder  blood.  Did  not  any  excuse  suffice  for  envy  ?  They 
could  be  friendly  to  him  down-town  and  let  their  wives  con 
demn  his  on  some  trivial  point  of  dress,  speech  or  manners; 
even  plead  ignorance  of  it  if  appealed  to.  He  had  no  in 
tention  of  appealing  to  any  of  them.  His  triumph  and 
Lora's  should  be  like  the  inevitable  march  of  the  tide,  the 
slow  but  certain  sweep  of  the  glacier. 

It  was  clear  to  him  now;  his  wife  and  he  were  the  vic 
tims  of  a  social  cabal.  Lora,  shrewd  little  woman  as  she 
always  showed  herself,  was  right.  The  conspirators  were 
not  one  but  many.  His  enemies  were  a  social  order;  but 
when  the  reckoning  came,  it  would  be  with  a  few  individ 
uals—with  but  one  or  two.  From  a  Chippendale  he  would 
receive  the  passport  which  now  was  withheld,  and  the 
bestowal  would  not  be  made  grudgingly  or  in  secret. 
He  had  no  intention  meanwhile  of  altering  his  previous 
methods.  To  draw  his  purse-strings  and  cease  to  play  the 
benefactor  to  Boston  would  suggest  that  he  was  piqued. 
He  would  continue  to  dazzle  if  not  shame  them  with 
princely  contributions  to  their  charities  and  their  aesthetic 
institutions,  which  they  could  not  afford  to  decline. 

Whatever  Blaisdell  undertook  was  initiated  by  pressing 
an  electric  button  in  his  inner  office.  Through  it  and  the 
telephone  he  aspired  to  rule  the  world.  Sooner  or  later 
there  appeared  his  financial  factotum,  his  political  man  of 
all  work,  or  whichever  one  of  his  salaried  agents  he  desired 
to  consult.  They  were  like  so  many  stops  in  an  organ;  he 
had  but  to  finger  them  in  order  to  test  and  play  on  public 
sentiment.  Through  them  he  had  out  feelers  in  diverse 
directions.  His  agents  kept  henchmen  on  the  lookout  for 
promising  investments,  henchmen  whose  duty  it  was  to 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  335 

see  that  accommodating  candidates  were  elected  to  the 
Legislature,  henchmen  charged  with  the  discovery  of  im 
pecunious  noblemen  desirous  to  part  with  artistic  master 
pieces. 

Blaisdell  sitting  in  his  inner  sanctum  was  in  virtual 
touch  with  many  corners  of  the  earth.  He  was  still  a  mem 
ber  of  the  firm  of  Delano  and  Blaisdell,  but  younger  part 
ners  now  attended  to  the  brokerage  portion  of  the  business. 
The  firm's  quarters  filled  one  entire  wing  of  the  ground 
floor  of  a  new  towering  building  in  which  Blaisdell  owned 
a  controlling  interest.  Blaisdell' s  trust  company  occupied 
the  other  wing.  His  own  private  offices  communicated 
with  both,  yet  were  in  a  measure  isolated.  The  Cerberus 
who  guarded  the  approach  to  them  was  a  tactful  and 
discriminating  secretary,  the  pleasant  notes  of  whose 
voice  lacked  the  nasal  shrillness  typical  of  most  American 
women  educated  at  the  public  schools.  No  one  saw 
him  whom  he  did  not  wish  to  see,  but  no  one  pecun 
iarily  deserving  or  intrinsically  important  was  ever  turned 
away.  The  edifice  itself  was  the  most  modern  and  spa 
cious  of  its  kind;  its  elevators  rose  and  fell  with  well-oiled 
swiftness;  every  appurtanance  to  the  building  had  been  de 
signed  to  prevent  friction  and  promote  despatch.  Those 
who  entered  it  for  the  first  time  were  apt  to  exclaim,  "this 
reminds  one  of  New  York."  So  it  did,  approximately;  the 
architect  had  been  directed  to  produce  just  this  effect. 
Blaisdell  could  complacently  reflect  that  other  so-called 
modern  offices — like  Langdon  &  Company's,  for  instance, 
barely  six  years  old — were  already  antiquated  in  com 
parison  with  his  own. 

Such  examples  as  his  were  contagious.  But  for  his 
immediate  frame  of  mind  he  would  have*  been  glad  to 
sun  himself  in  the  light  of  this  reflection — others  emulat- 


336  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ing  his  example,  by  striking  out  for  themselves  and 
avoiding  old-fashioned,  conservative  ruts;  in  short,  Boston 
ceasing  to  continue  a  "one  horse"  city;  himself  easily, 
indisputably  first,  but  provoking  rivalries — rivals  whom 
he  was  ever  luring  on  to  larger  undertakings.  Until 
yesterday  he  would  have  been  content  to  bask  in  the 
warmth  of  such  an  outlook.  Good-humored  still,  he  in 
stinctively  sought  to  distil  from  this  glamour  something  to 
answer  his  new  need,  and  suddenly  he  found  it.  Already 
there  were  rivals — two  or  three  in  particular.  Not  to 
desire  their  success  and  not  to  spur  them  on  would  be 
foreign  to  his  temperament.  But  every  one  could  not 
hope  to  succeed.  Some  must  inevitably  go  to  the  wall,  for 
the  pace  was  swift  and  demanded  a  steady  brain — all  the 
more  steady  as  responsibilities  grew.  The  modern  mag 
nate  was  like  a  huge  ship  setting  sail  on  sail.  There 
was  a  point  where  another  stitch  of  canvas  meant  dis 
aster.  There  was  such  a  thing  in  high  finance  as  "pyra 
miding";  known  to  the  colloquial  as  biting  off  more  than 
one  could  chew.  Who  was  the  most  ambitious  of  his 
would-be  rivals?  Clearly  Chauncey  Chippendale,  in  his 
way.  Despite  a  certain  jauntiness  which  might  suggest 
flippancy  to  the  uninitiated,  it  was  evident,  now  that  he 
scanned  the  situation,  that  this  blithe  young  man  had  not 
only  condescended  to  borrow  a  leaf  from  his  book,  but  was 
fast  approaching  a  frame  of  mind  which  might  lead  him  to 
aim  at  ultimate  leadership.  There  had  been  unmistakable 
signs  lately — straws,  yet  under  the  circumstances,  highly 
significant — of  an  intention  to  go  him  one  better,  as  the 
phrase  is,  whenever  the  occasion  offered.  He  recalled  cer 
tain  recent  syndicate  underwritings  to  which  Langdon  & 
Company's  subscription  had  exceeded  his  own.  At  the 
last  auction  sale  of  Symphony  Concert  tickets  there  had 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  337 

been  spirited  bidding  for  the  first  choice  of  seats,  and  it 
recurred  to  him  now  that  Mrs.  Chauncey  Chippendale 
had  been  reputed  at  the  time  to  be  the  unsuccessful  undis 
closed  competitor.  He  had  been  told  that  Chauncey  within 
a  few  months  had  paid  a  very  large  sum  for  a  pair  of  car 
riage  horses  expecting  that  they  would  be  the  handsomest 
in  Boston.  And  there  was  always  Electric  Coke.  Chauncey 
never  lost  sight  of  or  relaxed  his  hold  on  that;  but  was 
perpetually  bidding  it  up  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  pride 
with  him  not  to  run  the  risk  of  letting  any  one  else  acquire 
control.  Clearly  it  would  not  be  necessary  to  egg  him  on. 
All  he  himself  had  to  do  was  to  pursue  the  even  tenor  of 
his  way — initiate  this,  subscribe  generously  to  that,  pro 
mote,  or  purchase  the  other,  according  to  his  fancy.  And 
if  this  would-be  rival  was  really  anxious  to  dispute  with 
him  the  financial  mastery  of  Boston,  the  issue  would  be 
fate;  there  would  be  no  malice  in  it. 

Here  was  a  programme  which  appealed  entirely  to  his 
conscience — illustrating  again  his  favorite  apothegm,  the 
law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  The  struggle  was  none 
of  his  seeking.  But  if  this  scion  of  the  Chippendales  were 
bent  on  locking  horns  with  him  in  an  industrial  death 
grapple,  at  least  it  behooved  him  to  prepare  for  it. 

Therefore  Blaisdell,  to  begin  with,  summoned  and  was 
closeted  with  one  of  his  lieutenants  who  dealt  in  financial 
paper,  and  who,  by  virtue  of  knowing  the  inner  secrets  of 
banks  and  trust  companies,  had,  at  his  fingers'  ends  the 
names  and  necessities  of  borrowers.  When  this  confabu 
lation  was  over  he  sent  for  the  general  superintendent  of 
Electric  Coke  and  questioned  him  more  minutely  than 
usual  as  to  every  phrase  of  the  business;  after  which  he 
paid  an  unheralded  visit  to  all  the  plants.  Six  weeks  later 
the  "tape"  began  to  indicate  some  announcement  of  in- 


338  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

terest  to  the  shareholders;  the  stock  rose  rapidly  from  325, 
at  which  price  it  had  been  stable  but  inactive,  to  460  in  the 
space  of  a  fortnight,  discounting  the  subsequent  action  of 
the  directors  who  advocated  an  issue  of  new  stock  on  the 
basis  of  one  new  share  for  every  two  old — to  be  paid  for  by 
the  subscribers  at  par  of  one  hundred.  It  was  rumored 
that  there  had  been  dissensions  at  the  meeting,  and  that 
the  vote  passed  was  in  the  nature  of  a  compromise.  The 
lieutenant  who  dealt  in  financial  paper,  had  the  correct 
story  which  he  confided  to  a  select  few. 

It  appeared  that,  despite  the  huge  earnings,  Mr.  Avery 
had  been  opposed  to  a  further  stock  dividend,  on  the 
ground  that  a  reduction  in  the  price  list  of  the  machines 
manufactured  by  the  company  was  a  duty  owed  to  the 
public.  He  threatened  that  if  the  proposal  of  the  Langdon 
following  that  the  capital  stock  be  doubled  and  given  as  a 
bonus  were  adopted  he  would  resign  and  air  the  subject 
at  the  stockholders'  meeting  called  to  ratify  the  action  of 
the  directors.  So  far  as  the  necessary  votes  were  con 
cerned,  it  would  have  been  an  easy  matter  to  overrule  the 
wishes  of  the  mild-mannered  inventor.  Besides,  the  latter 
the  board  comprised  General  Langdon,  Blaisdell,  Delano, 
Coldthurst,  who  was  chairman  of  the  executive  committee 
of  one  of  the  largest  trust  companies,  Chauncey  Chippen 
dale  and  a  rising  railroad  lawyer  named  Spencer.  Blais- 
dell's  geaial  disdain  for  his  stepfather-in-law's  vagaries 
was  well  known,  and  the  others  had  expected  him  to  thwart 
tactfully  this  startling  ultimatnm. 

To  their  surprise,  however,  he  began  by  making  a  little 
speech  in  support  of  the  old  gentleman's  policy.  He  said 
that  in  these  days  of  popular  hostility  toward  so-called 
monopolies  it  was  desirable  for  a  corporation  to  court  the 
friendship  of  the  great  public,  and  that  Electric  Coke  was 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  339 

now  in  a  position  where  it  could  afford,  without  injustice 
to  its  stockholders,  to  make  a  slight  reduction  in  the  price  of 
its  machines.  He  went  on  to  state  that,  while  the  volume 
of  business  warranted  a  considerable  addition  to  the  capi 
tal  stock,  the  community  in  his  opinion  would  be  further 
conciliated  if  the  new  issue  were  offered  to  the  stockholders 
at  par  instead  of  given  away.  Would  not  the  premium 
which  the  stock  commanded  in  the  market  insure  to  the 
shareholders  a  sufficiently  handsome  profit?  Although 
Electric  Coke  was  a  New  Jersey  corporation,  and  there 
fore  not  amenable  to  the  local  statutes,  would  it  not  be 
more  sensible  and  prudent  in  the  long-  run  to  adopt  a 
happy  medium  between  the  new  strait-laced  Massachu 
setts  law,  which  forbade  the  issue  of  new  stock  except  at 
price  fixed  by  a  commission,  and  an  absolute  " melon"  ? 

There  was  no  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  remaining  di 
rectors  to  combat  this  argument.  BlaisdelPs  attitude  was 
a  surprise,  for  it  was  contradictory  to  the  position  which 
he  had  assumed  in  regard  to  former  stock  issues.  But  the 
emphasis  which  he  laid  on  the  importance  of  keeping  on 
good  terms  with  the  public  was  not  to  be  gains;  id.  Both 
Coldthurst  and  Spencer  were  impressed  by  what  they 
termed,  in  talking  to  others,  his  sagacity.  General  Lang- 
don,  after  inquiring  a  little  savagely  what  inducement 
would  presently  remain  to  the  capitalist  to  risk  money  in 
new  enterprises  if  all  the  profits  were  to  be  whisked  away 
by  loose  legislation,  blurted  out  suddenly:  "it's  right, 
though,  on  principle,  may  be;  and  whether  it  is  or  not, 
that  fellow  Blaisdell  has  a  long  head  on  his  shoulders. 
It'll  strengthen  the  stock  in  the  long  run." 

The  only  member  of  the  board  who  took  a  rueful  view 
of  the  decision  was  Chauncey  Chippendale,  and  his  ani 
madversions  were  reserved  for  his  wife's  ear. 


340  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"No  new  pearl  necklace  for  you  this  Christmas,  Betty. 
You'll  have  to  worry  along  on  the  old  one,  even  if  you  do 
think  the  color  of  the  pearls  a  little  cloudy.  The  stock 
dividend  on  Electric  Coke  hasn't  come  off.  Or  rather, 
instead  of  selling  a  small  slice  of  the  "melon"  for  your 
personal  adornment,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  scratch  round  for 
spare  cash  wherewith  to  subscribe  to  a  block  of  new  stock 
at  par.  That's  what  comes  of  there  being  too  many  envi 
ous  and  radical  farmers  in  the  Legislature." 

His  wife  uttered  a  melodious  wail  of  dismay.  "But, 
Chauncey,  I  had  picked  out  a  perfect  beauty.  Phipps  and 
Henderson  are  altering  the  clasp.  They  will  be  frightfully 
disappointed." 

Chauncey  frowned.  He  had  the  American  husband's 
dislike  of  refusing  anything  to  the  woman  for  whom  he  was 
educated  to  slave.  "  Their  disappointment  won't  be  equal 
to  mine.  Get  it,  if  you  choose;  but  I  can't  settle  for  it  until 
the  spring.  It  won't  do  to  take  any  chances  with  Elec 
tric  Coke;  I  must  grab  all  I'm  entitled  to,  or  somebody 
else  will  gobble  it  up.  I  needed  all  I  have  in  the  bank 
to  meet  my  subscriptions  to  two  or  three  other  promising 
things.  I  dare  say  Phipps  and  Henderson  won't  mind 
waiting  six  months." 

Beatrice  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  want  it  so  much  as 
that,  of  course.  But,"  she  added  firmly,  "I  want  one 
some  day."  She  had  inherited  the  Boston  tradition  that 
it  was  fundamentally  wrong  to  buy  anything  for  which  one 
could  not  pay  from  one's  income,  but  she  cherished  as  a 
corollary  to  this  the  expectation  that  her  husband's  in 
come  would  be  large  enough  to  provide  her  with  every 
thing  she  desired.  Chauncey  had  never  been  a  disap 
pointment  in  this  respect  and  she  believed  he  never  would 
be.  His  explanation  appealed  to  her  moral  sense;  at  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  341 

same  time,  she  wished  to  leave  the  matter  in  such  shape 
that  he  would  not  forget  it. 

The  most  significant  result  of  Blaisdell's  stand  was  its 
effect  on  Mr.  Avery.  The  inventor's  health,  never  robust, 
had  shown  signs  lately  of  breaking  down,  and  he  had  be 
come  aware  that,  in  order  to  perfect  certain  experiments, 
he  must  husband  his  vitality.  His  son-in-law's  speech, 
though  it  fell  short  of  his  own  theories,  was  so  encouraging 
an  indication  that  the  affairs  of  the  corporation  were  not 
to  be  conducted  henceforth  along  purely  selfish  lines,  but 
with  some  regard  to  the  public  weal,  that  at  the  following 
meeting  he  resigned  as  a  director  and  intimated  that  here 
after  his  voice  in  the  company's  management  was  to  be 
expressed  by  Blaisdell. 

Although  an  elderly  man  yields  grudgingly  to  nature's 
importunity,  the  first  step  in  the  process  of  divesting  him 
self  of  responsibility  is  the  only  trying  one.  Having  tasted 
of  relaxation,  he  yearns  for  more,  and  presently  hastens  to 
strip  himself  of  every  vestige  of  harness.  Mr.  Avery  proved 
no  exception,  and,  save  for  the  conduct  of  his  scientific 
experiments,  he  speedily  put  everything  else  into  the 
hands  of  Lora's  husband. 

There  had  always  been,  dating  back  to  the  Dartmouth 
Street  days — and  Priscilla,  who  observed  her  father  closely, 
had  not  failed  to  notice  it — a  certain  suspension  of  judg 
ment  on  his  part  in  regard  to  Blaisdell;  not  amounting  to 
positive  distrust,  but  in  the  nature  of  a  spiritual  interroga 
tion  point,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  are  undeniably  clever, 
but — "  No  word  of  stricture  had  ever  been  uttered,  and 
yet,  through  all  the  years  of  Blaisdell's  waxing  success  the 
posture  had  not  changed.  Now  of  a  sudden  all  was 
changed.  The  scales  had  fallen  from  her  father's  eyes 
and  he  saw  his  son-in-law  as  he  was — in  his  true  colors. 


342  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Such  was  Priscilla's  immediate  interpretation  of  what  had 
taken  place,  and  the  development  gratified  her  no  less 
than  her  father's  renunciation  of  his  superfluous  duties. 
It  was  the  first  skirmish  since  the  opening  of  the  cam 
paign;  what  would  Henry  say  now?  For  the  only  other 
critic  had  capitulated — owned  that  he  was  wrong.  Her 
memorable  mistake  had  made  her  chary  of  deciding  what 
was  best  for  her  father,  but  she  had  been  asking  herself  if 
the  time  had  not  come  when  he  should  cease  to  attend 
to  practical  business  details  which  were  never  much  in 
his  line.  His  handing  all  those  over  to  Hugh  seemed  to  her 
eminently  wise,  and  she  rejoiced  both  on  her  father's  ac 
count  and  on  her  own;  for  was  not  the  act  in  the  nature 
of  a  testimonial  ? 

The  abdication  was  made  easier  by  the  suavity  of  the 
beneficiary.  As  has  been  indicated,  a  desire  to  obtain  the 
resignation  of  his  father-in-law  had  not  been  the  ulterior 
purpose  behind  BlaisdelPs  change  of  policy.  He  had  not 
expected  that  this  could  come  so  soon,  and  like  a  fisher 
man  who,  having  baited  his  hooks  for  a  certain  shy  variety 
of  fish,  finds  that  he  has  landed  a  stray  leviathan,  he  felt  it 
incumbent  on  him  for  the  moment  to  desert  his  trawls  and 
devote  himself  to  rendering  the  last  moments  of  the  dying 
monster  as  comfortable  as  was  consistent  with  his  own 
necessities.  On  a  certain  spring  day — which  happened  to 
be  the  twelfth  anniversary  of  the  incorporation  of  Electric 
Coke— a  family  party  visited  the  works  in  BlaisdelPs  pri 
vate  car.  Nearly  a  year  had  elapsed  since  Mr.  Avery  had 
been  there,  and  neither  of  the  three  women  had  made  the 
expedition  since  the  early  stage  of  the  company's  existence. 

The  weather  so  far  lent  itself  on  the  occasion  to  the 
amiable  purpose  of  the  organizer  that,  after  the  tour  of 
inspection,  the  open-air  luncheon  provided  on  a  hillock 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  343 

commanding  a  view  of  the  valley  appealed  to  the  sensi 
bilities  of  all.  They  sat  and  ate  under  a  rustic  arbor  which, 
as  Blaisdell  explained,  was  a  trysting-place  for  the  younger 
element  of  the  working  population.  Did  not  the  rude 
initials  cut  in  the  wooden  benches  attest  to  its  democratic 
popularity?  Below  them  at  the  base  of  a  gently  sloping 
landscape  lay  the  factory  buildings — the  latest  two  dwarf 
ing  the  rest — breasting  the  water  power;  and  from  their 
vicinity  an  imposing  town — the  growth  of  yesterday — yet 
with  its  schools,  churches  and  department  store,  spread 
itself  in  the  spring  sunshine  like  a  metropolis  on  a  map. 
Already  that  morning  had  Mr.  Avery  been  gratified  by 
receiving  flowers  from  the  school  children  and  an  address 
of  welcome  from  the  chairman  of  the  Selectmen,  who  had 
saved  until  the  last  his  secret  that  the  town  which  had 
hitherto  clung  to  the  name  fastened  on  it  when  a  straggling 
village — Porterville — had  voted  to  call  itself  henceforth 
Avery.  But,  though  touched  and  gently  protesting,  the 
somewhat  dazed  inventor  did  not  seem  to  grasp  the  full 
import  of  what  his  patient  labors  had  accomplished  until 
he  looked  down  from  the  height  on  this  panorama  of  indus 
trial  activity.  As  he  sat  visibly  moved,  it  was  Blaisdell 
who  felicitously  summarized  the  thoughts  which  were  in 
all  their  minds. 

"  This  must  be  a  proud  day  for  you,  sir.  Your  life-work 
lies  crystallized  in  this  throbbing  valley,  but  with  radii 
which  are  rapidly  reaching  out  over  the  civilized  world. 
And  it  isn't  every  inventor,"  he  added,  "who  can  eat  his 
cake  and  have  it,  too ;  live  to  realize  the  dream  of  his  man 
hood  and  reap  a  golden  harvest  into  the  bargain.  We 
wicked  capitalists  haven't  been  able  in  this  instance  to 
appropriate  all  the  pecuniary  profits." 

"You   haven't  tried,"  answered  Mr.  Avery,  wiping  his 


344  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

eyes,  and  grateful  that  the  emotion  which  the  opening 
statement  had  aroused  had  been  relieved  by  the  utilitarian 
close.  Otherwise  he  could  not  have  found  his  voice. 

Far  from  uttering  a  disclaimer,  Blaisdell  replied:  "Let 
it  be  set  down  to  our  credit,  then;  the  credit  of  the  modern 
financial  world."  He  looked  around  him  as  if  to  make 
sure  that  every  one  was  listening.  "  But  I  will  not  deny  that 
you  were  astute,  sir."  Then,  as  his  glance  fell  on  Priscilla, 
he  concluded:  "  You  did  not  forget  that  you  had  a  daugh 
ter." 

"Who  needed  the  money,  and  who  enjoys  immensely 
the  privilege  of  being  rich,"  Priscilla  exclaimed  with  ex 
uberance,  as  if  excoriating  some  pallid  previous  doubt. 

"And  a  wife  and  step-daughter,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Avery. 
"Money's  money,  there's  no  denying  that.  But  we  man 
aged  somehow  to  get  along  cheerily  on  Dartmouth  Street; 
and  you  mustn't  forget,  Hugh,  that  it  was  there  you  met 
Lora.  Only  think  how  different  things  would  have  been 
if  you  hadn't  happened  to  apply  to  us  for  lodgings!" 

The  underlying  presumption  that  her  husband  would, 
in  such  an  event,  have  married  some  one  else,  prompted 
Lora  to  insert  her  arm  through  his  as  if  seeking  an  assur 
ance  that  he  was  there. 

"And  I  don't  believe  it's  going  too  far,  is  it,  Gideon," 
continued  Mrs.  Avery  breathlessly,  "to  say  that  in  case 
Hugh  had  gone  elsewhere  Electric  Coke  might  never  have 
existed.  The  sickly  children  which  live  never  really  know 
how  near  they  were  to  death." 

For  an  instant  there  was  silence,  which  Priscilla  broke 
by  exclaiming:  "You  forget,  mama,  that  neither  Hugh 
nor  I  believed  in  papa's  invention.  It  succeeded  in  spite 
of  both  of  us.  I  have  always  envied  and  loved  you  be 
cause  you  had  complete  faith  in  him."  She  smiled  fondly 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  345 

at  her  father  as  she  spoke;  to  bear  testimony  how  truly 
wise  he  had  been  was  to  be  her  tribute  on  this  day  of  days. 

"  Mercy,  child,  I  thought  we  all  believed  in  him."  Mrs. 
Avery,  doubtless,  had  intended  her  retrospective  survey  to 
be  merely  in  the  nature  of  a  loose,  kindly  reciprocation  of 
the  apostrophe  which  Blaisdell  had  addressed  to  her  hus 
band,  but  this  averment  of  her  more  than  frank  step 
daughter  was  genuinely  surprising. 

If  Blaisdell  had  been  willing  to  appropriate  the  credit 
in  question,  he  did  not  delay,  now  that  he  was  challenged, 
to  admit  his  incredulity.  "You  are  right,  Priscilla;  but 
I  wasn't  aware  at  the  time  that  you  suspected  it."  She 
saw  him  fix  her  with  his  small  eyes,  smiling  pontifically,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "I  didn't  contradict  your  mother  because 
I  was  loath  to  disturb  the  serenity  of  this  occasion  by  intro 
ducing  a  discordant  note;  but  since  you  have  thought  best 
to  do  so,  there  is  nothing  to  conceal."  This  was  what  she 
read  plainly  on  his  lips;  then,  as  he  turned  his  eyes  from 
her  she  heard  him  continue — and  this  time  he  was  address 
ing  her  father : 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  fortunate  that  I  was  in  the  house, 
and  Mrs.  Avery  is  in  a  measure  right;  I  was  lacking  in 
faith,  but  when  I  learned  to  believe  I  think  you  will  agree 
that  no  one  was  quicker  to  realize  and  to  assist  you  to 
make  the  most  of  the  commercial  possibilities  of  your 
revolutionizing  discovery." 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  that,  Hugh — no  doubt  of  that 
whatever,"  assented  Mr.  Avery  graciously.  "Besides,  all 
my  experiments  had  seemed  to  be  failures  up  to  that  point. 
I  was  sure,  but  it  was  natural" — he  lingered  on  the  word 
— "for  every  one  else  to  doubt." 

"Which  is  only  another  way  of  saying,"  continued 
Blaisdell,  "that  it  takes  two  kinds  of  men  to  give  the 


346  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

world  the  full  benefit  of  a  great  invention.  Your  part  is 
done;  you  have  earned  your  repose;  this  flourishing  town 
below  us  is  a  monument  to  your  genius  and  society's  appre 
ciation  of  it.  But  on  the  rest  of  us — and  by  force  of  cir 
cumstances  on  me  in  particular,  rests  the  responsibility 
for  the  future — the  duty  of  placing  your  gift  to  humanity 
within  reach  of  everybody,  but  without  crippling  the 
property  rights — in  this  instance,  the  magnificent  property 
rights — which  make  successful  manufacture  possible. 
Your  sympathies  are  with  the  consumer  and  with  the  arti 
san—the  under  dogs  of  industry,  as  I  have  heard  you  call 
them.  So,  sir,  are  mine.  Our  only  difference  can  be  as  to 
what  will  be  for  their  best  interest  in  the  long  run." 

Mr.  Avery's  countenance,  which  had  looked  a  little 
chilled  by  the  reminder  that  only  repose  was  in  store  for 
him,  lighted  up  at  the  humanitarian  allusion.  "The  re 
sponsibility  is  on  you — must  be  on  you,"  he  said.  "I  am 
too  old,  I  dare  say,  even  to  conjecture  what  is  best.  Let 
me  tell  you,  Hugh,  on  my  side,  that  I  feel  safe  in  leaving 
everything  in  your  hands." 

There  was  no  question  as  to  the  sincerity  with  which 
Mr.  Avery  thus  sealed  his  abdication,  though  it  was  ob 
viously  a  sad  as  well  as  a  proud  day  for  him.  His  wife  as 
usual  was  prompt  in  providing  an  antidote. 

"It's  lucky,  Gideon,  that  you've  got  some  one  like  him 
to  step  in  and  run  the  business." 

This  brisk  encomium  restored  the  spirits  of  everybody 
and  might  have  served  as  a  benediection  had  not  Blaisdell 
chosen  to  re-open  the  theme.  Everything  had  played  into 
his  hands;  he  had  merely  to  accept  with  a  smiling  face  what 
fate  had  bestowed  and  keep  silent.  But  his  convictions 
were  rampant  at  the  moment  and  he  craved  the  oppor 
tunity  to  win  over  the  economic  sympathy  of  the  keen  in- 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  347 

telligence  which  had  just  shifted  its  burden  to  his  shoul 
ders.  He  pointed  again  toward  the  valley.  "This  town — 
these  factories  are  only  a  beginning,  Mr.  Avery.  We  who 
stand  here  lack  the  imagination  to  forecast  the  future  of 
your  invention.  You  were  brought  up  in  the  days  when 
every  man  was  the  arbiter  of  his  own  small  business; 
those  days  are  over — over  forever.  Our  time  is  to  be  the 
era  of  gigantic  combinations  which  will  swallow  up  and 
combine  rival  and  kindred  industries.  A  few  great  cor 
porations  will  succeed  the  struggling  many,  and  instead  of 
every  man  his  own  master,  the  business  world  will  ac 
knowledge,  like  an  army,  its  small  group  of  generals,  its 
field  officers  under  orders,  and  the  remainder  rank  and 
file.  The  world  will  struggle  against  it — legislate  against 
it,  but  in  the  end — I  see  I  shock  you,  sir,  but  wait — in  the 
end  this  process  must  prevail  for  the  reason  that  everything 
will  cost  less  and  mankind  will  thus  be  enabled  to  live 
more  cheaply  and  happily." 

The  vigor  of  Blaisdell's  manner  was  tempered  by  its 
persuasive  calm.  He  spoke  with  earnest  fluency,  yet  with 
out  excitement,  as  if  he  felt  that  what  he  was  saying  was 
too  indisputably  true  to  leave  room  for  contradiction,  al 
though  purposely  prophetic.  His  concluding  words  were 
almost  jocund,  suggesting  that  there  could  be  only  one 
logical  answer  to  the  plea  of  cheapness  of  production.  His 
physical  attributes — his  solid  compact  figure,  his  full  cheeks 
and  broad  brow,  his  firm,  amiable  mouth  and  shrewd 
eyes — contributed  to  enhance  his  effect  of  reserve  power. 

"How  true  everything  which  Hugh  says  sounds,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Avery  in  a  hoarse  aside  to  her  daughter. 

Mr.  Avery  was  evidently  interested ;  caught  like  a  fly  in 
the  molasses  of  the  final  appeal;  but  likewise  a  little  be 
wildered. 


348  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"And  how  does  this  effect  Electric  Coke?"  he  inquired. 

"Because  Electric  Coke  must,  sooner  or  later,  like  every 
other  corporation,  swallow  up  the  other  fellow,  or  be 
swallowed  up.  Our  task  will  be  to  swallow  up  the  other 
fellow."  His  smile  was  that  of  a  good-humored  but  carniv 
orous  anaconda. 

"  But  what  becomes  of  the  individual — of  the  rank  and 
file,  as  you  call  them?"  It  was  Priscilla  who  asked  the 
question.  She  had  listened  with  fascinated  ears  to  his  ex 
position;  but  now,  as  she  spoke,  there  was  the  solicitude  of 
dismay  in  her  voice  and  she  rested  her  hand  upon  her 
father's  shoulder  almost  in  the  guise  of  a  protector. 

BlaisdelPs  eyes  twinkled  with  appreciation  of  her 
quickness  in  reaching  the  root  of  the  matter,  and  his  reply 
was  intended  to  be  in  the  nature  of  a  reward — a  final  an 
swer  to  that  pertinent  inquiry  and  on  the  same  mental 
plane.  "There  are  no  higher  laws  in  the  world  than  the 
economic  laws,  because  they — like  the  tides  and  the  sea 
sons — are  inevitable."  As  he  spoke,  as  if  to  illustrate  his 
reason,  he  tossed  a  stone  which  he  was  balancing  on  his 
palm  down  the  declivity  on  the  edge  of  which  they  were 
sitting.  They  could  hear  it  rattle  down  the  gorge.  Then 
before  Priscilla  had  ceased  to  muse  upon  his  meaning,  he 
exclaimed:  "There  is  no  denying  that  the  most  enviable 
will  be  the  handful  of  generals  and  their  families. 
You,  for  instance,  are  the  daughter  of  what  is  called  now 
a  captain  of  industry.  Your  husband,  whoever  he  may  be, 
through  the  power  which  you  will  be  able  to  give  him, 
ought  to  become  a  general.  Do  not  wrinkle  your  brow, 
Priscilla.  You  would  have  made  a  highly  ornamental 
princess.  I  merely  mean  that  the  generals  of  to-morrow 
are  to  take  the  place  of  the  monarchs  of  yesterday." 

"And  meanwhile  the  every-day  individual " 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  349 

"Will  be  better  off  than  ever  before  in  his  life." 

"But  if  he  doesn't  think  so?" 

"He  will  try  socialism,  and  in  the  end  flee  from  it  in  dis 
gust." 

"Socialism!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Avery.  "That  means  the 
death  of  the  individual,  too."  He  shook  his  head  with  the 
instinct  of  the  man  who  believes  in  the  triumph  of  energy 
and  revolts  from  being  confounded  with  the  common  herd. 

At  this  point  the  bubbling  laugh  of  the  practical  Lora 
intervened  and  her  distinct  voice  was  heard  to  utter: 
"What  Hugh  really  means — his  moral  is  that  we  must  all 
hold  on  tight  to  what  we  have  and  try  to  increase  it,  for  the 
people  who  fail  to  do  so  will  soon  be  nobodies  even  in 
Boston." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IT  was  Sunday,  just  after  morning  service.  For  the 
past  ten  minutes  people  had  been  gathering  in  the  cloister- 
like  arcades  which  surrounded  the  inner  court-yard  of  the 
new  Public  Library — slipping  in,  as  it  were,  for  the  occa 
sion  was  a  select  one.  Those  entering  had  been  bidden  to 
a  private  view  of  the  bronze  fountain  which  had  recently 
been  offered  as  a  central  ornament  for  the  court-yard. 
Before  formal  acceptance  of  the  gift,  the  trustees  of  the 
library  had  seen  fit  to  take  certain  competent  minds  into 
their  confidence,  though  the  invitation  contained  no  hint 
that  an  expression  of  opinion  was  sought  for.  And  yet  it 
could  be  safely  taken  for  granted  that  such  a  gathering  of 
the  leading  citizens  of  Boston  would  not  approach  an  ob 
ject  of  art  in  other  than  a  tensely  critical  spirit. 

The   list  had   been   made  out   with   discernment,   for 


350  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

fashion  no  less  than  technical  knowledge,  Cambridge  as 
well  as  Boston,  unfaltering  moral  worth  and  travelled 
scepticism  were  each  in  evidence;  individuals  might  be 
missing,  but  every  point  of  view  was  represented,  including 
two  clergymen  and  a  bank  president,  who,  spiritually 
speaking,  might  be  regarded  as  an  offset  to  certain  mem 
bers  of  the  Sphinx  Club  whose  shibboleth  was  known  to 
be  "art  for  art's  sake."  In  all  the  members  of  the  various 
groups  aggregated  about  fifty.  Standing  in  the  centre  of 
the  court-yard,  the  spot  selected  for  its  location,  the  statue 
was  still  concealed  by  draperies  which  were  not  to  be  re 
moved  until  the  psychological  moment  arrived,  which 
would  not  be  until  certain  persons  whose  idiosyncrasy  it 
was  to  be  tardy  had  been  waited  for  a  reasonable  time. 
The  interval  thus  afforded  was  beguiled  by  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner's  two  daughters  with  a  discussion  begun  on  the  way 
from  church  at  King's  Chapel  as  to  whether  it  was  obliga 
tory  to  seek  out  a  conductor  who  had  neglected  to  collect 
a  fare.  Marriage  had  so  far  tempted — or  should  one  say, 
relaxed? — Mrs.  Paton's  point  of  view  that  she  was  dis 
posed  to  throw  the  responsibility  of  collecting  it  on  the 
company,  unless  the  omission  could  be  rectified  without 
the  slightest  personal  inconvenience;  but  her  sister  fer 
vidly  declared  that  the  money  would  henceforth  burn  in 
her  pocket,  and  that,  at  all  events,  she  would  feel  obliged 
to  give  it  away  in  charity.  So  eager  was  the  controversy 
that  they,  as  well  as  Professor  Paton,  who,  in  the  capacity 
of  judge,  stood  listening  to  the  dialogue,  were  so  far  oblivi 
ous  to  their  surroundings,  that  an  agitated  "  Girls — girls, 
pay  attention,"  on  the  part  of  their  mother  was  the  first 
indication  to  them  that  the  statue  was  about  to  be  uncov 
ered. 

Professor  Paton  squared  his  shoulders  and  gave  his 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  351 

curving  mustaches  a  nervous  downward  pull.  He  was  be 
ginning  to  be  regarded  as  a  rising  authority  on  art — one  of 
the  younger  men  who  might  be  relied  on  to  fill  the  place 
of  Professor  Slater,  whose  fearless  critical  judgments  had 
long  been  a  purging  mainstay  to  the  generation  to  which 
Mrs.  Sumner  belonged.  Professor  Slater  had,  of  course, 
been  invited,  but  a  cold  had  kept  him  at  home,  so  a  greater 
responsibility  than  usual  was  imposed  on  his  junior.  The 
latter  s  work  on  the  Greek  poets  had  necessarily  brought 
him  into  close  communion  with  the  plastic  monuments  of 
the  ancient  classical  world,  and  his  marriage  to  a  Sumner 
had  given  just  the  requisite  touch  of  solidity  to  his  charac 
ter  in  the  eyes  of  those  disposed  to  ascribe  his  occasional 
diatribes  to  a  lack  of  sober  purpose.  As  the  coverings  were 
removed  and  the  statue  stood  revealed,  he  gave  a  start  and 
ejaculated  under  his  breath,  "Caesars  Ghost!''  The  tone 
in  which  he  uttered  this  expletive  was  one  of  amazed  enter 
tainment — immediate  foresight  indeed  of  the  yawning 
chasm  of  difference  of  opinion  shortly  to  rend  Boston  as 
by  an  earthquake. 

What  those  present  beheld  was  the  youthful  figure  of  a 
Bacchante  in  the  very  act  of  dancing.  Poised  on  one  foot 
with  nude  airy  grace,  she  impersonated  the  poetry  of  brisk, 
joyous  motion,  while  her  jocund  upward  glance  rested  on 
an  infant  huddled  on  one  shoulder  before  whom  she  gayly* 
dangled  a  bunch  of  grapes.  For  a  brief  moment  there 
was  silence,  an  occasional  gasp  as  in  the  case  of  Pro 
fessor  Paton,  but  virtually  no  sound.  Some  began  to  cast 
sheep's  eyes  at  their  neighbors,  for,  in  spite  of  the  intensity 
of  their  convictions,  it  is  typical  of  Bostonians — as  doubt 
less  of  many  others — that  novelty  strikes  them  aghast  in  a 
sense,  and  they  instinctively  seek  support  before  venturing 
to  approve  or  even  to  blame.  To  over-praise — to  like  a 


352  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

thing  one  should  not,  is  almost  a  cardinal  sin,  and  not  to 
recognize  what  is  excellent  nearly  as  bad.  So  Boston  is 
liable  to  wabble  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  until  those  in 
whom  she  has  confidence  point  the  way.  Even  her  ap 
plause  is  always  frigid,  for  her  enthusiasm  is  a  product  of 
the  brain,  not  the  spontaneous  tumult  of  the  heart. 

A  light  murmur  of  conversation  now  arose  for  the  differ 
ent  groups  were  beginning  to  compare  notes.  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner,  who  had  been  gazing  fixedly  at  the  statue,  turned 
away  abruptly.  "What  do  you  think  of  it,  mama?"  in 
quired  Mrs.  Paton  anxiously,  forecasting,  perhaps,  a 
diversity  of  opinion  between  her  mother  and  her  hus 
band. 

"How  can  you  ask,  Barbara  /  What  could  any  one 
think  but  consider  it — er — immodest?"  interposed  her 
sister.  It  sometimes  seemed  to  the  elder  Miss  Sumner  that 
she  and  Barbara  had  suddenly  changed  places.  Formerly 
Barbara  had  been  the  over-conscientious — the  strictly 
sensitive  one.  Her  lack  of  moral  nicety  on  the  subject  of 
the  conductor's  fare  had  been  a  distinct  shock.  Could  this 
be  the  result  of  matrimony  ?  If  so,  it  was  high  time  that 
she  should  be  brought  up  with  a  round  turn. 

"But  hasn't  it  real  artistic  merit?  If  it  hasn't  that,  of 
course,  there's  nothing  to  be  said,"  answered  Mrs.  Paton, 
turning  toward  her  husband  for  support.  But  Mrs.  Sum 
ner  did  not  wait  for  her  son-in-law's  verdict. 

"No  wonder  they  felt  that  the  thing  needed  draperies. 
In  my  judgment  they  should  never  have  been  taken  off." 

Apparently  oblivious  of  this  incipient  family  feud,  Pro 
fessor  Paton  continued  to  gaze  at  the  fountain,  chuckling 
now  and  then  softly  to  himself.  At  last  he  said:  "It's 
clever — infernally  clever,  and  original.  Grace — joy — 
movement,  they're  all  there." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  353 

"I  told  you  so,"  exclaimed  his  wife  triumphantly.  "If 
it  weren't  artistic,  I  should  hate  it,  too." 

"Don't  tell  me,"  said  Lily  Sumner  with  sad  sternness, 
"that  you  approve  of  it,  Fuzzy."  The  family  had  adopted 
the  professor's  college  nickname. 

"Approve  of  it?  Certainly  I  approve  of  it — from  a 
purely  artistic  standpoint.  The  question  is,  the  really 
amusing  question,  will  Boston  stand  for  it?" 

"Here  in  the  central  court-yard  of  the  Boston  Public 
Library,  a  spot  which  of  all  spots  should  be  consecrated 
to  high  moral  and  educational  aims?  Never;  certainly 
not,"  said  his  mother-in-law,  speaking  with  stately  delib 
eration,  but  evidently  feeling  deeply.  "Clever — yes,  the 
statue  may  be  clever  in  a  pagan — er — Latin  quarter  sense; 
but  it  is  essentially  frivolous  in  conception.  If  there  are 
people  who  admire  it,  I  should  not  object  if  it  were  to  be 
placed  in  a  corner  of  the  Art  Museum,  though  I  should 
never  care  to  look  at  it  again  myself.  But  here,  in  our 
Public  Library?  I  shall  protest  against  that  with  every 
fibre  of  my  being.  If  necessary,  I  shall  write  to  the 
Transcript  on  the  subject  and  get  my  brother  Harri 
son  to  do  the  same.  It  is  utterly  inappropriate  to  the 
place." 

Professor  Paton  nodded.  "I'm  not  sure  that  I  don't 
agree  with  you.  I'm  inclined  to  think  you've  hit  the  nail 
on  the  head.  The  thing  is  almost  a  masterpiece  in  its  way, 
and  devilish  bold  and  inspiring  technically.  But  I  can  see 
what  you  mean.  The  spot  selected  is  not  appropriate." 
He  turned  to  his  wife  and  sister-in-law.  "Your  mother  is 
right,  girls.  In  a  museum,  yes;  but  here — it's  scarcely  the 
place  I  admit.  In  fact,  if  the  trustees  consult  me,  I  may 
have  to  vote  against  it,  brilliant  as  I  think  it  is." 

But  Lily  was  not  satisfied.    "  How  can  you  admire  it  so, 


354  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

Fuzzy  ?  We  know  nothing  of  that  young  woman's  history. 
What  does  that  unfortunate  child  symbolize?" 

"She's  a  Bacchante.  They  were  all — er — like  that," 
her  sister  hastened  to  explain. 

"It's  the  movement — the  unconscious  rapture  with 
which  she  dances  that  are  so  admirable,  Lily,"  the  pro 
fessor  answered.  "Artistically  the  thing  is  very  convinc 
ing;  but  when  it  comes  to  eternal  fitness" — he  paused  and 
chuckled  softly  again — "there  are  difficulties  undeniably. 
Where  that  is  involved,  I  would  sooner  have  your  judg 
ment,  Mrs.  Sumner,  than  that  of  any  one  I  know." 

Firm  as  she  already  was  in  her  opinion,  Mrs.  Sumner 
was  pleased  by  this  tribute,  for  her  son-in-law  would  be  a 
valuable  ally,  and  she  was  well  aware  that  he  was  capable 
of  disagreeing  with  her.  Her  glance  strayed  across  the 
court-yard  to  another  section  of  the  arcade  where  she  knew 
that  her  son  was  standing.  "I  wonder,"  she  said,  "what 
Henry  thinks  of  it."  There  was  just  a  touch  of  solicitude 
in  her  tone,  for  she  had  noticed  his  companions.  But 
people  were  beginning  to  move,  and  at  that  moment  a  little 
group  consisting  of  her  sister,  Miss  Georgiana  Chip 
pendale,  Mr.  Moore  of  the  Art  Museum,  Morgan  Drake 
and  Miss  Winston,  secretary  of  the  Mother  Eve's  Club, 
drifted  toward  them. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Eleanor?  To  my  eyes  that 
young  woman  is  little  better  than  a  saucy  minx — a  trollop," 
exclaimed  Miss  Chippendale.  "But,"  she  added  and  the 
color  of  her  large  nose  indicated  that  she  was  agitated, 
"these  people  are  all  crazy  about  her." 

Mrs.  Sumner  surveyed  the  group  with  serene  decision, 
though  the  sight  of  Mr.  Moore  in  opposition  was  inwardly 
disconcerting. 

"We  are  all  agreed  here— not  to  like  it  at  all." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  355 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  cried  Miss  Chippendale  tri 
umphantly. 

"Professor  Paton,  too?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Moore  in  some 
distress. 

"  Crazy  does  not  exactly  define  my  attitude,"  said  Miss 
Winston  in  her  gentle,  worried  tone,  looking  over  her 
glasses.  "  But  I  think  Mr.  Blaisdell  was  right  when  he  said 
just  now  that  what  we  need  in  Boston  is  more  joy  in  living. 
It  was  a  new  thought  to  me,  and  that  fountain  does  ex 
press  joy.  Perhaps  we  are  too  solemn  in  our  artistic  pref 
erences.  No  one  can  deny  that — er — the  main  figure 
dances  as  though  intoxicated  with  joy." 

"Joy?  She  looks  to  me  a  little  tipsy,"  remarked  Miss 
Chippendale  promptly. 

"So  she  does,"  assented  Morgan  Drake  highly  enter 
tained.  "I  couldn't  quite  make  out  what  was  wrong 
about  her.  Still,  I  like  her  all  the  same;  she's  so  clever — 
graceful — free — unconventional.  Her  presence  would  do 
Boston  good  in  the  long  run." 

"She  doesn't  belong  in  the  main  court-yard  of  the  Pub 
lic  Library;  there's  the  point,  Morgan,"  said  the  pro 
fessor. 

"  But  that's  the  location  which  the  donor  of  the  fountain 
has  selected.  Should  one  look  a  gift  horse  in  the  mouth  ?" 

"Assuredly,  if  necessary,"  said  Mrs.  Sumner,  seizing 
her  opportunity.  "  From  the  standpoint  of  high  art — and 
the  highest  art  must  always  be  ethical — she's  a  degenerate 
person.  In  this  spot — dedicated  to  the  people,  for  the  peo 
ple,  by  the  people— she  would  lower  not  raise  one's  ideal 
of  womanhood  and  maternity." 

Mrs.  Sumner  breathed  more  freely,  feeling  that  she  had 
probed  the  subject  to  its  depth  and  uttered  what  would  be 
for  her  the  final  word. 


356  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"I  said  she  was  a  minx;  a  minx  is  the  only  term  for 
her,"  asserted  Miss  Chippendale. 

"You  consider  her  decadent,  Mrs.  Sumner?  I  admit 
that  she's  modern — ultra-Parisian,  possibly.  But  I  am 
not  prepared  to  agree  that  she  is  decadent,"  said  Mr.  Moore 
turning  to  look  at  the  statue  once  more  and  shading  his 
brow  with  his  hand. 

"I  refuse  to  think  of  her  as  decadent— merely  graceful, 
free  and  unconventional,  as  Mr.  Drake  just  said,"  protested 
Miss  Winston,  "and  I  fail  to  detect  the  slightest  sign  of 
tipsiness,  only  joy." 

"There  were  plenty  of  people  around  us  enthusiastic  on 
the  subject — people  of  various  affinities,"  declared  Mor 
gan.  "Mrs.  Staunton  Townsend  was  praising  it  to  the 
skies,  and  I  heard  your  nephew  Chauncey  Chippendale 
state  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blaisdell  that  it  was  a  masterpiece. 
Let  us  hope  that  this  will  not  be  a  case  where  Boston  will  be 
shaken  to  her  solid  centre.  I'm  ready  to  listen  to  arguments, 
but,  as  at  present  advised,  I'm  in  favor  of  letting  the  little 
lady  stand  where  she  is." 

This  was  his  parting  shot.  He  and  his  associates  con 
tinued  on  their  way.  The  reference  to  her  nephew  was 
not  lost  on  Miss  Chippendale.  It  was  one  more  sign  of 
depravity  to  mark  down  against  Chauncey  in  the  mental 
ledger  wherein  she  registered  the  faults  and  merits  of  her 
nephews  and  nieces  with  an  eye  to  a  final  trial  balance. 
Nor  did  she  overlook  the  mention  of  Blaisdell.  She  was 
glad  to  find  him  on  the  opposite  side,  for  it  served  to  con 
firm  the  new  opinion  which  she  had  formed  of  him.  As 
Morgan  turned  to  depart  she  nodded  her  head  sturdily 
and  said:  "I'm  not  surprised  to  hear  that  certain  persons 
are  in  the  wrong,  as  usual." 

But  Mrs.  Sumner's  thoughts  were  busy  elsewhere.    "It 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  357 

is  time  to  go,"  she  said,  "and  I  don't  see  Henry  anywhere. 
As  Mr.  Drake  just  remarked,  if  people  are  obstinate,  this 
may  become  a  very  serious  matter." 

"Considering  that  he  went  with  Priscilla  A  very,  he  is 
not  likely  to  join  us  so  long  as  he  can  be  with  her,"  said 
Lily  pertinently.  "  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  them  both  across 
the  court-yard  while  you  were  all  discussing  the  Bacchante. 
Most  of  her  family  were  with  him.  Surely,  mama,  you 
haven't  any  fear  that  Henry  will  like  'the  little  lady,'  as 
Mr.  Drake  calls  her?  Mr.  Drake  is  clever,  of  course,  but 
he's  liable  to  be  flippant  at  the  wrong  time." 

"  Ordinarily  I  should  take  for  granted  that  he  would  see 
the  fatal  objection  to  it  which  we  all  see;  but  for  the  very 
reason  which  you  have  just  indicated,  child,  I  do  not  con 
sider  that  Henry's  convictions  for  the  time  being  are  what 
can  be  called— er— stable."  Thereupon  Mrs.  Sumner 
sighed  gently;  but  accepting  the  intimation  that  further 
delay  in  the  hope  of  meeting  her  son  was  likely  to  be  futile, 
she  proceeded  to  lead  the  way  toward  the  exit. 

At  that  very  moment  the  object  of  her  concern  was 
standing  at  an  opposite  angle  of  the  arcade,  just  out  of 
range  of  the  family  vision,  listening  to  some  very  good- 
humored  but  explicit  arguments  why  it  would  be  "  a  crime 
—yes,  an  unpardonable  crime,"  to  reject  the  gift  of  the 
new  fountain.  Henry  had  come  with  Priscilla,  but  natural 
chance  had  finally  brought  them  both  into  the  company  of 
the  Blaisdells  and  Mrs.  Avery.  Although  the  acquaintance 
of  the  two  men  dated  back  to  the  Dartmouth  Street  days, 
their  meetings  since  then  had  been  casual,  and  in  spite  of 
Henry's  intimacy  with  Priscilla,  they  were  little  more  than 
bowing  acquaintances.  On  his  part,  Blaisdell  was  glad  of 
the  opportunity— for  some  time  he  had  been  hoping  for 
one— of  endeavoring  to  rectify  the  erroneous  impression 


358  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

which  he  was  well  aware  that  this  scion  of  puritanical, 
aristocratic  Boston  had  formed  of  him.  Glad  to  take  pains 
to  demonstrate  with  complete  amiability  that  of  their  two 
attitudes  toward  public  affairs  his  own  was  the  sound  and 
salutary  one.  From  Priscilla  he  had  not  gleaned  a  word 
of  Henry's  distrust,  but  he  had  divined  it  long  ago.  At 
first  it  had  amused  him,  then  irritated  him  slightly.  Lat 
terly  he  had  felt  some  inclination  to  correct  what  he  deemed 
an  unjust  prejudice,  for  though  from  the  point  of  view  of 
large  affairs  Henry,  in  his  opinion,  was  of  no  account,  it 
could  not  be  denied  that  the  latter  was  a  vigilant  individual 
who  never  lost  sight  of  what  was  going  on  locally.  To  win 
him  over — at  least,  to  make  clear  that  they  were  both 
really  seeking  the  same  end,  if  by  slightly  different  meth 
ods — the  good  of  Boston — would  be  a  personal  gratifica 
tion  (triumph  would  be  too  large  a  word);  and,  moreover, 
it  would  be  convenient  to  be  on  friendly  terms  with  a  man 
whose  attentions  to  his  sister-in-law  were  so  tenaciously 
persistent.  He  had  even  ceased  of  late  to  laugh  at  her  per 
severing  admirer  in  her  hearing  for  the  reason  that,  though 
Priscilla  appeared  to  agree  with  him  by  never  contradicting 
his  animadversions,  she  still  allowed  Henry  to  dance 
attendance  on  her,  which  argued  presumably  that  this 
captious  suitor  was  not  altogether  distasteful. 

Ever  since  the  statue  had  been  uncovered  Blaisdell  had 
been  making  what  might  be  called  a  jubilant  tour  of  the 
arcade.  He  was  so  far  in  the  secret  of  the  donation  that 
he  had  been  one  of  the  three  or  four  persons,  besides  the 
trustees,  vouchsafed  a  preliminary  peep  at  the  fountain 
a  few  days  previous,  on  which  occasion  his  enthusiasm 
had  been  instant  and  unstinted.  Could  any  one  for  a  mo 
ment  doubt  that  this  spirited  figure  was  exactly  the  central 
ornament  which  the  new  court-yard  required  ?  When  the 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  359 

draperies  were  removed  he  had  taken  for  granted  that  there 
could  be  but  one  opinion  as  to  its  merit,  and  he  had  turned 
at  once  to  express,  right  and  left,  his  unqualified  admiration 
of  the  dancing  figure.  If  he  noticed  that  some  of  the  replies 
which  his  enthusiasm  drew  forth  were  more  negative  than 
the  merits  of  the  conception  demanded,  he  set  this  down 
to  what  he  termed  habitual  Boston  reserve;  and  some 
time  elapsed  before  it  dawned  on  him  that  the  sentiment 
was  not  all  one  way.  The  first  person  to  bring  home  to 
him  this  knowledge  was  Mr.  Coldthurst,  the  bank  presi 
dent — one  of  his  closest  business  associates — who  re 
marked  in  response  to  an  eager  inquiry  whether  he  did  not 
consider  it  a  delightful  creation — "on  the  contrary,  if  it 
remains  here,  our  sons  and  daughters  will  be  brought  into 
daily  association  with  immodesty.  Mr.  Leonard  has  just 
told  me,  Blaisdell,  that  he  considers  both  figures  positively 
indecent,  and  in  my  opinion  that  is  not  putting  it  too 
strong.'' 

This  from  a  man  of  Mr.  Coldthurst's  position  was  dis 
turbing,  especially  as  he  spoke  with  unaccustomed  energy, 
for  in  ordinary  daily  life  he  was  sluggish  in  his  demeanor. 
Blaisdell  had  tried  to  convert  him  on  the  spot  by  amazed, 
incredulous  urbanity.  Did  he  not  recognize  the  grace  and 
spontaneous  beauty  of  the  design?  What  could  be  more 
appropriate  for  a  fountain  than  a  youthful  mother  dancing 
with  her  child  ?  It  would  give  the  rather  sober  court-yard 
just  the  requisite  touch  of  joyous  animation.  But  the 
bank  president  had  shaken  his  head  doggedly  and  mut 
tered  something  about  "naked  figures,"  whereupon  Blais 
dell,  recollecting  that  Mr.  Coldthurst  was  a  parishioner  of 
Mr.  Leonard's  and  the  denomination  to  which  he  be 
longed,  believed  that  he  had  unearthed  the  basis  of  the 
entire  opposition. 


360  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Ah,"  he  exclaimed  with  the  slightly  superior  air  of  one 
who  recognizes  that  further  argument  would  be  a  waste  of 
time,  uyou  object  to  the  nude  in  art."  Such  a  point  of 
view  was  to  be  laughed  at  when  out  of  earshot  of  the  pru 
rient  souls  who  entertained  it,  but  was  essentially  a  stone 
wall  so  far  as  converting  the  individual  was  concerned. 

Blaisdell  was  bubbling  over  with  the  absurdity  of  this — 
as  he  well  had  a  right  to  be — when  he  encountered  Chaun- 
cey  Chippendale  and  his  wife  a  few  minutes  later.  Lora 
was  with  him  and  the  four  stopped  to  talk.  Doubtless 
it  seemed  a  favorable  opportunity  to  Beatrice  to  take  a  little 
more  pains  to  be  civil  to  the  Blaisdells — a  suggestion  which 
her  husband  every  now  and  then  made  to  her  when  he 
came  home  more  than  usually  impressed  by  his  rival's 
growing  prestige  down-town.  Beatrice  was  a  little  obsti 
nate,  especially  in  social  matters,  and  she  clung  to  the 
theory  that  the  newcomers  belonged  to  a  different  set  and 
had  plenty  of  friends  of  their  own.  In  deference  to  Chaun- 
cey's  desire,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  invite  them  to 
her  next  large  entertainment,  but  she  had  never  been  able 
to  make  them  "fit  into"  any  of  her  small  ones.  "Of 
course,  the  real  reason  why  they  don't  get  on  faster  socially 
is  his  wife,"  she  would  remark  occasionally  in  self-defence. 
"She's  pretty  and  she  has  lots  of  pretty  clothes,  but — er— 
she's  different.  A  man  can  be  different,  but  a  woman 
can't." 

Beatrice,  however,  was  sensible  as  well  as  amiable,  and 
she  had  gathered  lately  that  she  had  put  off  being  civil  long 
enough.  So  she  shook  hands  with  Lora  graciously  as 
people  know  how  to  do  at  the  nick  of  time  when  it  costs 
them  nothing.  Happily  they  found  a  common  bond  in 
the  new  fountain.  Her  melodious  declaration  that  she 
"loved  it"  not  merely  delighted  Blaisdell,  but  thawed  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  361 

ice  of  Lora's  disinclination  to  be  appeased  by  such  a  minor 
attention,  who  also  made  a  mental  note  that  she  would 
"love"  henceforth  in  every-day  speech  inanimate  things  of 
secondary  importance.  Chauncey  likewise  was  exuberant. 
"It's  a  gem — a  perfect  gem.  She's  running  over  with 
sportiveness  just  as  a  fountain  ought  to  be.  If  the  Puritan 
fathers  can  see  her,  they'll  wriggle  in  their  graves  a  little, 
but  she'll  do  dear,  old,  sober  Boston  good."  He  added 
somewhat  quizzically,  "She  looks  as  if  she  might  have 
been  an  artist's  model  at  one  stage  of  her  career." 

A  more  sensitive  person  might  have  found  this  encomium 
not  altogether  satisfying;  but  Blaisdell  did  not  stop  to 
analyze  it;  enough  for  him  that  his  opinion  was  reenforced 
from  such  a  prominent  quarter.  He  rejoiced,  too,  in  the 
thought  that  this  partial  tender  of  the  olive  branch  was  an 
indication  that  his  new  policy  was  working.  He  hastened 
to  repeat  the  Reverend  Mr.  Leonard's  objections  to  the 
nude  in  art,  and  to  jest  pleasantly  on  the  subject.  He 
found  his  listeners  sympathetic.  He  felt  convinced  when 
he  left  the  Chippendales  that  the  only  people  who  objected 
to  the  design  were  those  who,  if  they  could  have  their  way, 
would  put  clothes  on  every  statue  in  the  world;  and  this 
thought  had  been  uppermost  in  his  mind  when  he  joined 
Henry  and  Priscilla. 

The  first  shock  to  this  serenity  came  from  an  unex 
pected  source,  for  when  he  gaily  asked  his  sister-in-law 
how  she  liked  the  statue  her  reply  was,  "I  haven't  made 
up  my  mind."  Blaisdell  noticed  that  the  words  were 
spoken  without  hesitation,  as  if  she  wished  to  define  this  as 
her  exact  attitude.  In  the  next  breath,  however,  she  said 
no  less  explicitly — and  she  chose  to  designate  Henry  with 
the  tip  of  her  parasol — "Mr.  Sumner  doesn't  like  it  at  all. 
He  thinks  it  oughtn't  to  be  there." 


362  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Blaisdeli  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  It  was  obvious 
that  the  pair  had  been  engaged  in  a  tense  discussion  of  the 
merits  of  the  fountain,  and  he  realized  that  he  had  arrived 
just  in  time  to  bring  his  jubilant  arguments  to  bear  on 
Priscilla's  side — to  prevent  her  from  being  over-persuaded 
by  her  censorious  admirer,  extraordinary  as  it  appeared  to 
him  that  she  could  fail  to  be  enthusiastic. 

"Disputing?  Disagreeing,  as  usual,  you  two?"  ex 
claimed  Lora.  She  also  had  been  nonplussed  of  late  by 
the  continued  tolerance  of  a  suitor  with  all  of  whose  opin 
ions  her  sister  professed  to  be  at  odds.  Then,  with  a  glance 
at  Henry— "Not  like  the  Bacchante?  How  can  any  one 
help  liking  her  ?  I  just  love  her." 

"There  has  been  no  dispute,  for  I  haven't  said  yet  that 
I  like  her,"  replied  Priscilla  by  way  of  refuting  Lora's  the 
ory.  She  chose  to  add,  "  I  intend  to  like  her  if  I  can." 

"And  I'm  by  no  means  sure  that  I  dislike  her,  Mrs. 
Blaisdell,"  said  Henry.  "All  I  maintain  is  that  the  library 
is  not  the  proper  place  for  such  a  figure."  His  mother 
would  have  rejoiced  to  hear  the  unqualified  conclusion. 

"The  proper  place?  If  one  has  objections— scruples 
against  the  nude  in  art — I  can  understand  that  he  would 
think  so.  But,  otherwise,  this  would  seem  to  be  the  ideal 
spot  for  a  decorative,  not  too  serious,  fountain."  Taking 
Priscilla's  concluding  words  at  their  full  value,  Blaisdell 
believed  that  he  was  giving  her  exactly  the  assistance 
which  she  required  by  focussing  the  limelight,  as  he  called 
it,  on  the  crucial  point.  He  said  to  himself  that  he  might 
have  guessed  that  Sumner  would  be  prudish  on  just  that 
score. 

"I  haven't  the  remotest  objection  to  the  nude  in  art. 
The  finest  sculpture  must  necessarily  be  nude,"  Henry 
answered  quickly.  Then,  as  the  enormity  of  the  unlocked- 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  363 

for  charge  grew  on  him,  he  turned  to  Priscilla  and  said 
solicitously:  "I  hope  I  made  this  perfectly  clear  to  you." 

Priscilla  hesitated  a  moment.  "I'm  sure  you  believe 
that  you  have  none."  As  she  finished  her  lips  wore  a  slight 
smile.  The  earnestness  of  Henry's  inquiry  had  not  been 
lost  on  her.  If  her  answer  was  in  a  measure  roguish,  it 
was  no  less  in  a  measure  true.  Was  not  this  the  precise 
doubt  lurking  in  her  own  mind  ?  Was  not  the  moment  ripe, 
too,  for  bringing  these  two  men  together — the  two  men  she 
knew  best  in  the  world  ?  Surely  each  should  learn  to  appre 
ciate  the  other.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  listen  to  them 
both  side  by  side;  as  a  result,  she  would  be  able  to  decide 
as  to  the  Bacchante  and,  perhaps,  in  regard  to  various 
other  things. 

The  equivocation  filled  Henry  with  dismay,  but  to 
dwell  on  the  precise  point  was  awkward.  Surely  the  pos 
session  of  a  New  England  conscience  could  not  be  synony 
mous  with  rank  Philistinism.  He  felt  impelled  to  say, 
"Pray  do  not  confound  my  objections  with  those  of  the 
people  who  take  such  a  stand — if  there  are  any." 

This  protestation  fell  on  deaf  ears  so  far  as  Blaisdell  was 
concerned.  Lora's  remark — which  he  had  listened  to  with 
joy — had  furnished  him  with  the  correct  solution  and  con 
firmed  his  own  belief;  the  ascetic  Sumner  was  blind  to  the 
true  nature  of  his  own  inability  to  admire.  At  the  same 
time  Blaisdell  did  not  forget  that  he  desired  to  make  a  good 
impression.  He  must  convince  or  convict,  whichever  it 
should  be,  so  as  to  leave  no  shadow  of  offence,  and  over 
whelm  his  antagonist  in  such  a  masterly  fashion  that  the 
other's  distrust  would  be  turned  to  admiration  out  of 
sheer  gratitude. 

"  But  what  other  good  reason  can  there  possibly  be  for 
condemning  it,  Mr.  Sumner?  We  have  here" — and  he 


364  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

indicated  the  statue  with  a  sweep  of  his  gold-headed  walking- 
stick—  "  a  genuine  work  of  art— modern  undeniably— a 
little  bold  and  unconventional,  if  you  will— but  all  the  more 
masterly  on  that  account;  more  masterly  and  more  desir 
able  for  the  reason  that  the  design  is  for  a  fountain— please 
bear  this  in  mind— a  fountain  the  spray  from  which  will 
be  scarcely  more,  innocuous  than  the  innocent  mirth  which 
we  see  here  symbolized.  All  conscientious  scruples  are 
entitled  to  respect;  but  surely  it  would  be  straining  at  a 
gnat  were  we  to  throw  back  this  masterpiece  in  the  teeth 
of  the  generous  donor  on  the  ground  of— shall  we  say  im 
modesty?  My  dear  Sumner,  I  think  too  well  of  your  in 
telligence,  too  well  of  your  good  taste  and  love  of  the 
beautiful,  too  well  of  your  common-sense  to  believe  that 
you  are  serious  in  your  opposition.  I  heard  you  say  not 
many  minutes  ago  that  you  were  not  sure  you  did  not 
like  it.  Come,  confess  now,  that  it  is  graceful  and  beau 
tiful." 

Blaisdell's  smooth-shaven,  still  cherubic  face,  and  hu 
morous  mouth  reflected  closely  the  inherent  reasonable 
ness  of  this  argument.  So  engagingly  was  it  delivered  that 
Henry  acknowledged  the  magnetism  of  the  appeal  by  a 
genial  laugh.  "I  do  confess  at  least  that  it  is  very  grace 
ful,"  he  said.  He  realized  that  Blaisdell  was  trying  to  show 
himself  egregiously  friendly,  and  he  was  for  a  moment 
conscious  of  the  traditional  coals  of  fire;  but,  curiously 
enough,  the  final  effect  of  this  gracious  effort  to  sweep  him 
off  his  feet  was  to  intensify  his  sense  of  the  wideness  of  the 
gulf  which  separated  them.  If  he  had  not  been  aware  that 
Priscilla's  eye  was  on  him  and  that  he  must  first  of  all  be 
human  in  order  to  remain  just,  he  would  have  been  tempted 
to  evade  further  discussion  out  of  sheer  hopelessness  of 
being  understood.  But  this  would  never  do;  he  must  rise 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  365 

to  the  occasion  and  meet  affability  with  affability  or  be 
condemned  as  tactless  if  not  worse.  Yet  the  essential  thing 
of  all  was  to  convince  her;  this  was  the  stake,  and  she  was 
waiting  to  decide  between  them.  "  My  scruple,"  he  added, 
endeavoring  to  continue  sprightly,  "is  not  the  one  you 
mention,  Blaisdell,  but  it  is  conscientious.  It  isn't  the 
statue  I  object  to,  but  the  location.  In  an  aesthetic— a 
moral  sense— I  find  it  unworthy  of  being  the  central  orna 
ment  of  this  fine  court-yard.  It  is  out  of  place.  Put  it 
elsewhere  and  I  would  say,  'how  clever  and  graceful  and- 
from  the  standpoint  of  what  the  artist  has  attempted- 
beautiful.'" 

" Unworthy?  And  is  not  calling  it  unworthy  in  an 
aesthetic  and  moral  sense  only  another  way  of  saying  that 
you  are  offended  by  the  nude  figure  of  a  young  woman 
dancing  with  a  baby  in  her  arms?" 

"  Yes  and  no.  I  am  not  offended  by  the  mere  fact  that 
she  is  nude  nor  that  she  is  dancing." 

"And  to  what,  pray,  do  you  object  then?"  Blaisdell's 
shrewd  small  eyes  shone  with  merriment.  Such  sophistry 
seemed  to  him  the  contortions  of  a  mind  seeking  to  evade 
the  inevitable  consequences  of  its  own  logic. 

"To  the  artistic  unworthiness  of  the  entire  composition 
as  a  key-note  to  the  place  where  we  stand— a  place  in  an 
educational  sense  sacred,  and  which  should  be  reserved 
for  a  work  of  art  intrinsically  noble." 

Blaisdell  appeared  to  weigh  this  response  as  if  seeking 
to  state  his  position  in  a  few  vital  words.  Both  men  con 
tinued  to  smile,  each  obviously  bent  on  remaining  imper 
turbable,  however  much  their  opinions  might  clash. 

"But  doesn't  that  come  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end? 
If  the  Bacchante  were  not  a  dancing  girl— were  something 
different  from  what  she  is,  you  might  consider  her  educa- 


366  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

tional  and  worthy  ?    Excuse  me,  Sumner,  but  you  seem  to 
be  arguing  in  a  circle." 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  understand  him — you  don't  under 
stand  him."  It  was  Priscilla  who  spoke.  She  stopped 
suddenly  as  if  the  eager  words  had  sprung  from  her  lips 
involuntarily.  But,  after  an  instant,  she  continued  with 
unabated  conviction:  "I  see  exactly  what  Mr.  Sumner 
means,  and  I  agree  with  him.  It  doesn't  belong  here." 

Henry  turned  a  grateful,  glowing  look  upon  her.  "I 
felt  sure  that  you  would  think  so  in  the  end." 

Priscilla  appeared  to  ignore  this  tribute.  "I  hate  to  dis 
agree  with  you,  Hugh,  but  the  longer  I  look  at  it,  the  more 
certain  I  am  that  it  isn't  worthy  of  its  surroundings."  Al 
though  she  echoed  his  own  exact  phraseology,  Henry 
appreciated  that  her  solicitude  lay  elsewhere. 

"Worthy?  Educational?  The  idea  of  using  such  sol 
emn  language  about  such  a  lovely,  harmless  thing!"  lisped 
Lora.  "I  don't  pretend  to  understand  you  two.  I  never 
knew  before,  Priscilla,  that  you  had  a  Puritan  conscience." 

"Is  this  a  proof  of  it?"  asked  Priscilla 'with  a  rueful 
laugh.  "  Perhaps  I  have.  Now  that  you  speak  of  it,  that 
same  dreadful  thought  has  haunted  me  occasionally  of 
late."  This  time  she  glanced  at  Henry,  as  if  seeking  for 
some  one  on  whom  to  cast  the  blame,  after  which  she 
turned  her  eyes  again  toward  Blaisdell  who  had  not  yet 
spoken.  Content  with  his  wife's  acute  speech,  he  stood 
with  a  Delphic  smile  on  his  countenance,  obviously  (to 
Priscilla's  mind)  passing  judgment  on  her.  In  the  inter 
val  he  had  swallowed  his  surprise,  his  surprise  and  his 
pique,  though,  self-analyst  as  he  was,  he  was  barely  con 
scious  of  the  latter.  Realizing  that  further  argument  was 
useless,  he  chose  to  accept  their  conclusion— his  inability  to 
understand — without  a  murmur  and  at  the  same  moment 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  367 

to  slit  the  thin  fabric  of  their  temporary  triumph  by  a  ra 
pier-like  thrust — a  practical  reference  to  the  power  of 
majorities.  Including  both  Priscilla  and  Henry  in  a  sweep 
of  his  brow  he  said : 

"I  venture  to  predict  that  after  this  masterpiece  has 
been  in  place  a  year  or  so,  those  who  condemn  it  now  from 
conscientious  motives  will  be  among  its  most  ardent  ad 
mirers,  and  I  expect  some  day  to  be  personally  exonerated 
by  you  both." 

The  slight  jocularity  of  the  closing  words  threw  a  cloud 
of  dust  for  an  instant  around  the  gratuitous  assumption 
that  the  fountain  was  to  be  a  fixture.  The  two  replies  came 
simultaneously : 

"But  nothing  has  been  decided  yet,  Hugh.  The  Art 
Commission  and  the  Library  trustees  are  at  variance. 
We  were  invited  here  on  purpose  to  say  whether  we  wish 
it  to  remain  or  not." 

"Your  major  premise  is  at  fault,  Blaisdell.  Boston  will 
never  tolerate  the  fountain." 

"Excuse  me — one  at  a  time,  please,"  said  Blaisdell, 
making  a  show  of  backing  away  in  mock  alarm  at  their 
mutual  eagerness.  "The  same  answer,  however,  will  do 
for  you  both.  Nothing  has  been  actually  decided ;  but  the 
fountain  will  remain  because  most  people  like  it — are  en 
thusiastic  over  it.  The  Art  Commission  had  only  seen  a  re 
duced  model  of  the  group.  I've  been  counting  noses  ever 
since  it  was  uncovered,  and  I  can  confidently  assure  you 
that  you  are  in  a  hopeless  minority.  You  two  and  Rev 
erend  Mr.  Leonard  are  practically  the  only  malcontents." 

"There  may  be  more  than  you  think.  I  never  heard 
anything  so  cool,  Hugh,  as  your  taking  for  granted  that 
the  whole  thing  is  settled.  And  we  object  distinctly  to 
being  classed  with  Mr.  Leonard." 


368  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Priscilla's  fine  face  was  radiant  with  the  spirit  of  revolt. 
Everything  had  faded  into  secondary  importance  beside 
the  galvanizing  force  of  conviction. 

"Wait  and  see,"  answered  Blaisdell  blandly.  "Wait 
and  see."  He  observed  her  beauty  kindle  under  her  gay 
yet  resolute  mien,  but  he  reflected  that  he  had  been  correct 
in  his  original  diagnosis  that  she  possessed  a  restless  soul, 
which,  in  a  woman,  might  be  troublesome.  Thus  the 
foxes  in  this  earthly  vineyard  console  themselves  for  the 
loss  of  the  grapes.  But  his  moment  of  musing  was  cut  short 
by  Henry's  rejoinder: 

"I'm  positive  that  you  underestimate  the  opposition  to 
the  statue.  I've  lived  in  Boston  all  my  life— and  this  is 
just  one  of  the  cases  where  she  is  certain  to  be  aroused,  if 
it  is  forced  down  our  throats  before  we  have  had  time  to 
consider  the  matter  carefully." 

In  spite  of  the  gravity  of  this  retort  Priscilla  was  proud 
of  her  ally's  staunchness. 

"Aroused?"  exclaimed  Blaisdell.  "Surely  its  oppo 
nents  will  not  pull  it  down." 

"They  threw  the  tea  chests  into  Boston  harbor,  remem 
ber,"  Priscilla  interjected. 

"No;  but  the  public  will  insist  on  its  removal." 
Blaisdell  had  not  failed  to  notice  the  insinuation  that  he 
was  virtually  a  stranger,  and  he  welcomed  the  opportunity 
it  afforded  him.  "As  you  say,  you  have  lived  in  Boston 
all  your  life,  Sumner,  and  you  represent  old  Boston— the 
Boston  of  culture,  conservatism  and  respectability.  I  am 
a  newcomer,  and  I  represent  the  new— the  Boston,  if  I 
may  say  so,  of  unconventionally  and  progress.  It  will  be 
the  old  Boston  against  the  new.  We  shall  see  who  will 
win." 

"Progress?     If  there  is  one  thing  that  old  Boston,  as 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  369 

you  call  it,  has  always  stood  for,  it  is  progress.  It  is  in  the 
interest  of  the  highest  progress  that  I  intend  to  do  all  I 
can  to  prevent  the  perpetuation  of  this  decadent  foun 
tain." 

Although  BlaisdelPs  unruffled  demeanor  had  already 
reminded  Henry  that  he  had  suffered  his  zeal  to  get  the 
better  of  his  equanimity,  he  was  unable  to  refrain  from  this 
protest.  Was  he  never  to  learn  the  art  of  tempering  his 
emotions  ?  Was  it  not  one  of  the  characteristics  of  a  prig 
to  be  terribly  in  earnest  about  everything?  He  checked 
himself  and  said:  "Very  well,  then,  it  shall  be  the  old  Bos 
ton  against  the  new;  I  accept  the  challenge."  Then  look 
ing  suddenly  at  Priscilla  he  added:  "But  I  rely  on  your 
assistance,  Miss  A  very.  Will  you  help  me  to  win  ?" 

"  If  you  need  me,  yes."  There  was  no  hesitation.  If  he 
had  spoken  like  a  prig  for  a  moment,  she  had  overlooked 
it.  So  spontaneous  was  her  animated  assent  that  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  she  felt  this  to  be  one  of  the  few  occasions 
when  it  was  permissible — yes,  imperative  to  show  how 
deeply  one  felt. 

"An  alliance,  eh!"  exclaimed  Blaisdell,  and  he  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  with  a  shrewd  smile  as  if  infinitely 
amused,  while  Lora  gave  one  of  her  bubbling  laughs.  Life 
being  full  of  surprises,  he  would  have  acknowledged  this 
to  be  one  of  them  but  for  his  ancient  conviction  of  his  sis 
ter-in-law's  inherent  flightiness.  He  drew  out  his  watch 
and  said:  " Before  hostilities  proceed  further,  isn't  it  about 
time  for  a  truce  ?  It  isn't  far  from  our  luncheon  hour." 

"And  as  you  have  assured  us,  Mr.  Sumner,  that  if  the 
statue  remains,  old  Boston  will  not  feel  obliged  to  pull  it 
down  with  ropes,"  added  Lora,  reenforcing  her  husband's 
suggestion,  "you  must  take  lunch  with  us.  You  haven't 
been  to  the  house  for  ages,  and  now  that  we  are  to  be  ene- 


370  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

mies,  who  knows  when  we  shall  be  able  to  ask  you  again. 
Needless  to  say,  there  will  be  no  attempt  to  separate  the 
allies." 

Henry  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  redeem  himself  on 
the  score  of  affability.  He  felt  sure  that  Priscilla  would 
like  him  to  accept  in  spite  of  the  opinion  which  she  knew 
that  he  entertained  concerning  his  host.  "  I  will  come  with 
great  pleasure,  Mrs.  Blaisdell,"  he  replied.  A  moment 
later  he  and  Blaisdell  were  walking  side  by  side  toward  the 
exit.  The  latter  had  already  changed  the  subject,  but  was 
conversing  graphically  on  a  kindred  theme— Boston's 
great  opportunities  if  she  did  not  neglect  to  ugird  her 
loins,"  and  the  danger  that  she  would  be  " pocketed"  by 
the  rest  of  the  country  if  she  failed  to  "keep  abreast  of  the 
times." 

Lora,  taking  Priscilla  by  the  arm,  which  she  proceeded 
to  pinch,  led  her  a  little  in  advance  of  the  men.  "You 
have  always  said  you  hated  him,"  she  whispered.  "If  you 
take  him,"  she  added  with  one  of  her  musical  laughs,  "  what 
relation  shall  I  be  to  Mrs.  Chauncey  Chippendale?" 

Priscilla  was  too  absorbed  by  her  own  emotions  to  pay 
heed  at  the  moment  to  this  last  inquiry,  but  she  recalled  it 
later  with  concern.  "  It  does  look  a  little  suspicious,  doesn't 
it,  dear?  For  this  is  the  first  time  in  our  lives,  I  believe, 
that  we  have  ever  agreed  about  anything."  She  paused  a 
moment,  and  her  manner,  though  buoyant,  suggested  that 
she  was  fully  alive  to  the  incongruity  of  the  phenomenon. 
"What  is  much  more  gruesome,  Lora,  is  that  this  is  the 
first  time  I  have  ever  disagreed  with  Hugh." 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  371 

CHAPTER  XIX 

FOUR  days  later  when  Henry  Sumner  entered  the  Sphinx 
Club  at  the  luncheon  hour  he  realized  that  it  had  become 
a  storm  centre. 

"Wait  until  you  read  to-night's  Transcript!" 

"Wanted,  a  pair  of  Plymouth  Rock  pants  for  the 
Bacchante!" 

"Opposition  to  the  nude  in  art  makes  strange  bed 
fellows — Henry  and  the  Reverend  Ashby  J.  Leonard!" 

The  last  of  these  diatribes  proceeded  from  Oliver  Spin 
ney,  the  poet,  who  revelled  in  relentless  paradox,  and  who, 
as  the  hubbub  subsided,  continued  with  mournful  irony, 
"Now  is  your  opportunity,  Henry,  to  prove  yourself  not 
guilty.  I  have  stoutly  maintained  from  the  first  that  it  was 
a  forgery." 

"The  letter  to  the  Transcript?  I  certainly  wrote  it. 
Moreover,  I  have  spent  this  forenoon  in  getting  signatures 
to  a  petition  to  the  trustees,"  answered  Henry  as  he  un 
folded  his  napkin.  Here  and  there  as  he  glanced  around 
the  table  he  encountered  aggrieved  or  quizzical  glances. 
It  was  clear  that  the  sentiment  of  most  of  those  present 
was  swayed  by  three  or  four  whose  artistic  sensibilities  had 
been  irritated  by  his  attitude. 

A  groan  followed  this  announcement,  and  Spinney, 
clasping  his  lean  fingers,  bent  forward  melodramatically 
and  said:  "What  has  induced  you,  Henry  Sumner,  to  con 
demn  a  thing  of  beauty  like  the  Bacchante — the  first  sym 
bol  of  emancipation  from  the  hydra  of  Boston  respecta 
bility?" 

"You  know  my  reasons  if  you  read  my  letter." 

"Burton  has  answered  it  in  to-night's  Transcript.  There 


372  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

will  be  other  replies,  if  necessary.  It  ought  to  be  sufficient 
that  the  Art  Commission  has  reversed  its  decision  and  has 
given  its  approval." 

"  Overpersuaded  before  the  extent  of  the  opposition  was 
realized." 

"It's  a  burning  question  already,"  murmured  Morgan 
Drake,  next  to  whom  Henry  had  seated  himself.  "  Some 
of  these  fellows  are  dreadfully  worked  up,  and  I  gather 
that  you're  not  exactly  calm.  I'm  against  you,  Henry,  but 
somehow  I  can't  rouse  myself  to  the  proper  pitch  of  excite 
ment.  I  should  not  object  to  a  real  war,  if  necessary,  but 
this  is  liable  to  become  opera  bouffe  if  it  keeps  on." 

"It  isn't  as  important  as  the  slavery  question;  but  a 
principle  is  at  stake  just  the  same."  Henry  drew  a  paper 
from  his  coat  pocket  and,  looking  across  the  table  at  Oliver 
Spinney,  exclaimed,  as  he  tossed  it  within  his  reach,  "You 
will  find  there  are  plenty  who  agree  with  me." 

"Oh,  the  lack's  in  me,  I  admit,"  whispered  Morgan. 
"You've  found  a  burning  cause,  for  the  time  being,  at  any 
rate — you  and  the  rest  of  them.  I  envy  you." 

Spinney  let  the  paper  lie  where  it  had  fallen,  but  some 
one  next  to  him  presently  deigned  to  examine  it  and  an 
nounced  for  the  general  information— "  General  Langdon 
heads  the  list  of  'we  the  undersigned'  in  opposition  to  the 
Bacchante." 

This  announcement  was  so  amazing  that  it  induced  com 
plete  silence;  while  Henry  looked  around  him  with  eager 
triumph. 

"  All  I  can  say  is  the  City  of  Boston  is  going  to  the  devil," 
said  Spinney  at  last  with  mournful  truculence.  There 
upon,  having  finished  his  luncheon,  he  stalked  from  the 
room  in  order  to  digest  the  disconcerting  intelligence  while 
playing  billiards. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  373 

Henry  well  knew  that  this  was  not  a  signal  of  defeat,  but 
of  an  intention  to  brood  and  retaliate.  Yet  the  advantage 
was  temporarily  his,  and  the  exit  encouraged  one  of  the 
other  members  to  exclaim:  "Fuzzy  Paton  is  against  the 
fountain;  so  are  Bell  and  Mason."  The  two  latter  were 
artists,  though  of  less  local  repute  than  Burton. 

"It  isn't  a  one-sided  affair  by  any  means,"  said  Henry. 
"You  have  only  to  read  that  list  in  order  to  realize  so." 

"It's  a  regular  mix-up;  families  hopelessly  at  odds  on 
the  subject,"  said  Morgan  Drake,  who  had  been  scrutin 
izing  the  names.  "A  house  divided  against  itself  cannot 
stand." 

Henry's  last  speech  had  been  addressed  to  the  table,  and 
George  Ware,  one  of  the  executive  committee,  felt  impelled 
to  answer  it,  using  Morgan's  quotation  as  a  text.  "I  don't 
consider  the  Sphinx  divided  against  itself.  The  opposition 
to  the  Bacchante  is — er — a  scattering  vote.  There's  Henry, 
Fuzzy,  Bell,  Mason — and  counting  General  Langdon,  who 
is  a  very  busy  man,  as  we  all  know,  and  may  not  have  given 
the  matter  sufficient  thought — 

"  Chauncey  Chippendale  stood  by  imploring  him  not  to 
sign,"  interposed  Henry. 

"Very  well,  then,  counting  him  there's  only  five.  Who 
else  is  there  ?  Call  it  seven  or  eight  in  all,  or  ten  at  the  out 
side.  It's  a  free  country,  so  you've  a  right  to  your  opinions, 
of  course;  but  how  any  man  who  believes  in  art  for  art's 
sake  can  take  such  a  position  is  more  than  the  rest  of  us- 
can  understand." 

This  sentiment  received  audible  signs  of  approval,  and 
two  enthusiasts  cried  in  the  same  breath:  "The  Club 
ought  to  stand  by  the  Art  Commission." 

Henry  looked,  as  he  felt,  imperturbably  resolute  and 
— a  warrior  who  wore,  though  invisibly  to  the  casual 


374  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

eye,  his  lady's  colors  wound  about  his  helmet.  On  the 
previous  evening  Priscilla  had  agreed  to  take  an  active 
part  in  the  movement  against  the  fountain,  and  had  thus 
cemented  her  promise  given  at  the  library.  This  had  im 
parted  fresh  vigor  to  his  spirit  and  made  all  opposition 
seem  trivial.  On  this  first  morning  of  his  crusade  his  feet 
had  seemed  to  bear  wings  and  his  soul  to  be  charged  with 
an  electric  current  which  sparkled  in  his  eyes  and  animated 
him  to  his  fingers'  tips.  "It's  a  moral  question,"  he  re 
torted.  "If  you  fellows  don't  feel  it,  there's  no  use  in 
arguing.  You've  read  my  letter.  It's  because  we  who  do 
feel  it  are  trying  to  protect  art  for  art's  sake  that  we  are 
determined  to  have  the  Bacchante  removed  from  where  she 
stands." 

Burton  groaned.  "A  moral  question!  What  is  there 
moral  in  half  the  beautiful  statues  of  the  world  ?  On  the 
same  principle,  presumably,  you  would  banish  the  Capi- 
toline  Venus  from  the  court-yard  if  Boston  were  fortunate 
enough  to  get  her." 

"No,  I  wouldn't  Burton,  any  more  than  you  would." 
"But  how  about  your  ally,   the  Reverend  Ashby  J. 
Leonard  ?    She  would  be  a  naked  woman  to  him  first,  last 
and  all  the  time." 

"I  am  totally  independent  of  Mr.  Leonard  and  you 
ought  to  know  it.  The  great  masterpieces  of  sculpture  are 
moral  because  in  their  presence  one  is  never  conscious  of 
anything  but  their  beauty.  One  feels  in  looking  at  the 
Bacchante  that  apart  from  the  cleverness,  she  is  really  a— 
guttersnipe." 

Burton  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  eloquent  protest  and 
puffed  at  his  pipe.  He  was  ordinarily  a  man  of  few  words 
and  had  said  his  say.  But  George  Ware,  who  had  a  sen 
tentious  style  when  the  occasion  called  for  one,  responded, 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  375 

"Everything  which  is  beautiful  and  not  a  masterpiece  is 
liable  to  be  condemned  as  immoral.  So  no  one  but  a  su 
preme  genius  can  venture  to  delineate  the  nude.  On  that 
theory  all  modern  sculptors  must  have  recourse  to  clothes 
or  starve." 

The  sardonic  laughter  which  this  evoked  relieved  the 
tension,  for,  though  no  one  had  lost  his  temper,  the  situa 
tion  was  on  the  verge  of  becoming  strained.  "Speaking 
of  allies,"  remarked  Morgan  Drake,  "I  don't  know  whether 
it's  more  surprising  that  Henry  should  be  keeping  com 
pany  with  the  Reverend  Ashby  J.  Leonard  or  that  the 
Sphinx  Club  should  find  itself  in  the  same  boat  with  Hugh 
McDowell  Blaisdell.  I  hear  he's  infatuated  with  the 
Bacchante  and  doesn't  brook  the  suggestion  of  giving  her 
the  cold  shoulder." 

The  club  as  a  body  had  hitherto  found  itself  on  the 
opposite  side  of  public  questions  from  the  rising  magnate, 
whose  name  had  almost  been  a  by-word  at  the  round  table 
for  utilitarian  indifference  to  ideals.  Nevertheless,  Burton 
with  a  grunt  removed  his  pipe  to  mutter.  "He  generally 
does  what  he  sets  out  to  accomplish."  Gratitude  to  his 
Macaenas  would  permit  at  least  this  semblance  of  a 
tribute. 

The  reminder  of  this  one  virtuous  deed  prompted  Mor 
gan  to  add:  "That's  a  fact,  he  bought  two  of  your  pict 
ures — and  he  wanted  me  to  write  a  Christmas  story  which 
would  sell  like  hot  cakes." 

"Yes,  he  does,"  answered  Henry,  as  if  he  were  eager  to 
face  just  this  argument.  "Fortunately  in  this  case  he 
hasn't  a  Board  of  Aldermen  or  a  Legislature  to  deal  with, 
but  a  Board  of  Trustees — men  whom  we  know,  men  who 
will  impartially  hear  both  sides  and  whom  he  will  find  it 
difficult  to  control  however  subtle  his  processes."  He  spoke 


376  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

with  nervous  directness,  and  as  he  glanced  around  the 
table  he  realized  from  the  silence  that  no  one  was  disposed 
to  challenge  his  insinuation.  "If  any  one  wishes  to  sign 
this  petition,"  continued  Henry,  rising  to  go,  "I'll  leave  a 
copy  on  the  notice  board  down-stairs.  I  feel  sure  that 
some  of  you  men,  if  you  will  take  a  second  look  at  the 
fountain,  will  come  over  to  our  side." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  Boston  was  in  the  throes 
of  a  fresh  agitation.  Henry's  letter  to  the  Transcript  had 
been  the  bellows  which  had  stirred  the  smouldering  mass  of 
public  opinion,  so  that  it  had  suddenly  flared  up  fiercely 
into  two  hostile  flames.  But  the  material  on  either  side 
lacked  merely  a  tangible  excuse  to  ignite  so  thoroughly 
had  it  accumulated  heat  during  the  few  days  which  had 
passed  since  the  meeting  at  the  library. 

Henry's  action  had  not  been  precipitate.  He  had  left 
the  court-yard  rejoicing  in  his  alliance  and  confident  that 
Blaisdell,  despite  his  resources,  would  find  himself  in  a 
pitiful  minority  on  this  clear  issue.  No  revolt  was  neces 
sary,  for  surely  the  trustees  would  of  their  own  accord 
reject  this  clever  but  degenerate  design  now  that  it  stared 
them  in  the  face.  His  mother's  sigh  of  relief— she  had  met 
him  in  the  front  hall — was  the  first  intimation  to  him  that 
responsible  opinion  could  be  divided  after  having  had 
time  to  reflect.  Later  it  dawned  on  him  that  she  had 
feared  the  influence  of  Priscilla,  but  by  this  time  he  had 
been  shocked  by  the  news  that  his  Uncle  Harrison  was 
among  the  admirers  of  the  fountain.  Mrs.  Sumner  dis 
covered  this  over  the  telephone  in  the  course  of  the  even 
ing,  hearing  her  brother  state  from  his  own  lips,  "It's  a 
little  French,  of  course,  and  it  has  a  certain  piquancy  which 
may  offend  old-fashioned  notions;  but  you  know  I  always 
am  progressive  in  my  sympathies."  Eleanor  Sumner 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  377 

sighed  again  and  said  to  herself:  "Harrison  can  never 
forget  that  he  once  spent  six  months  in  the  Latin  Quarter." 

Before  the  end  of  the  next  two  days  both  mother  and  son 
had  received  other  sad  surprises.  The  infatuation  of  Mr. 
Moore  and  Miss  Winston  was  confirmed,  and  Mrs.  Staun- 
ton  Townsend  was  found  to  be  in  the  van  of  the  enthusi 
asts — a  deplorable  defection,  for  Mrs.  Sumner  regarded 
her  as  one  of  the  few  younger  fashionable  women  with 
definite  standards.  Most  serious  of  all,  the  Art  Com 
mission,  whose  consent  was  a  prerequisite,  had  withdrawn 
its  disapproval.  Was  Boston  going  to  swallow  this 
specious  gift  for  lack  of  some  one  to  make  a  vigorous  pro 
test  ?  The  same  thought  had  quickened  and  grown  in  both 
their  minds  unuttered,  but  when  Henry,  at  the  breakfast 
table,  had  handed  his  mother  the  letter,  her  proud  reply 
was:  "I  hoped  you  would.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
write  myself  in  another  twenty-four  hours  if  no  one  else 
did.  I  have  always  relied  on  your  Uncle  Harrison  to  take 
the  proper  stand  on  important  public  questions." 

Henry  had  burnt  the  midnight  oil  over  his  composition; 
moreover,  he  had  evolved  a  scheme  of  action,  in  case  one 
proved  necessary  after  attention  had  been  openly  called  to 
the  lurking  danger — a  swiftly  and  widely  circulated  peti 
tion.  He  himself  would  devote  his  personal  energies  to 
obtaining  signatures.  But  in  order  to  cover  the  ground 
thoroughly,  cooperation  was  necessary,  preferably  a  wom 
an's  ;  two  minds  were  often  better  than  one.  He  canvassed 
a  mental  list  of  names.  His  Aunt  Georgiana  was  energetic 
and  downright;  but  she  was  elderly  and  would  be  apt  to 
reach  much  the  same  audience  as  himself.  The  desirable 
person  would  be  some  one  who  would  appeal  to  a  little 
different  element — penetrate  the  heart  of  the  enemy's 
camp,  if  possible;  and  thus  reasoning,  he  suddenly  thought 


378  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

of  Priscilla.  Why  was  she  not  just  the  woman  ?  Henry's 
heart  leaped  into  his  mouth.  He  had  not  forgotten  her 
glorious  promise;  he  had  every  intention  of  asking  her  to 
redeem  it.  But  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  until  now  that 
they  might  cooperate  side  by  side— he  and  she  alone  as 
protagonists  in  a  vital  movement.  Why  not  ?  She  was  a 
Bostonian  by  birth,  and  by  virtue  of  her  charms  and  her 
new  position  in  the  community  she  would  be  listened  to 
and  followed  if  her  enthusiasm  was  aroused.  Had  she 
not  just  the  infectious  qualities  suitable  for  a  leader? 
All  the  tact  and  fervent  optimism  which  he  himself 
lacked? 

Henry  did  not  inform  his  mother  of  his  choice.  He  fore 
saw  that  she  would  not  regard  it  as  an  ideal  one;  would 
consider  that  he  had  snatched  at  this  opportunity  for 
courtship,  whereas  his  selection  had  been  governed  solely 
by  the  belief  that  no  one  was  comparable  to  Priscilla  as 
an  ally.  He  was  so  certain  of  this  when  he  called  on 
her  the  following  evening — the  day  on  which  his  letter  to 
the  Transcript  appeared — that  the  customary  woodenness 
which  he  displayed  during  the  preliminaries  of  conversa 
tion  vanished  in  the  fervor  of  his  desire  to  tell  her  that 
no  one  else  would  do  so  well.  And  yet — which  was 
awkward — he  had  been  obliged  to  ask  for  a  private  inter 
view—to  request  her  mysteriously  to  grant  him  a  few  mo 
ments'  conversation  apart  from  her  step-mother  and  Lora, 
for  the  Blaisdells  were  dining  there.  He  had  interrupted 
a  family  gathering,  but  his  cause  burned  so  within  him 
that  he  felt  it  would  not  brook  delay.  He  sought  to  state 
his  errand  concisely  (Lora  had  already  divined  it  and 
had  lisped,  "I'm  sure  it's  something  to  do  with  the  Bac 
chante");  he  referred  to  his  letter  and  found  that  she  had 
read  it;  he  reminded  her  of  her  promise  to  help  and  of  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  379 

likelihood  of  the  need;  he  told  her  that  to  canvass  for  sig 
natures  adroitly  was  an  art  in  itself  and  that  she  would 
succeed  where  he  might  fail.  He  scarcely  realized  until  he 
was  in  the  street  how  easily  the  obstacles  which  she  inter 
posed  had  been  overcome  and  how  almost  eagerly  she  had 
consented. 

He  was  not  fatuous  enough — so  he  argued  to  himself 
— to  believe  that  it  was  a  personal  triumph;  it  was 
merely  that  she  had  become  a  thorough  convert  to  the 
cause  in  spite  of  herself,  and  was  ready  to  throw  herself 
into  it  heart  and  soul.  He  remembered  that  at  the  close, 
just  after  he  had  offered  a  few  hasty  suggestions  as  to 
practical  details,  she  had  made  a  remark  which  was  wholly 
unlike  her.  "  But  will  there  not  be  very  powerful  influences 
opposed  to  us  ?  Are  there  not  so  many  people  in  favor  of 
the  fountain  already  that  we  shall  be  apt  to  lose?"  Yet, 
before  he  could  answer  her,  the  idea  of  defeat,  the  very 
quality  of  doubt  in  a  matter  where  her  pride  was  at  stake, 
was  evidently  so  repugnant  that  she  exclaimed :  "  But  now 
that  we  have  joined  forces,  we  won't  let  them  win."  He 
remembered  the  light  in  her  dark  eyes  as  she  spoke,  the 
enthusiasm  in  her  rich  voice.  "It's  a  queer  alliance,  isn't 
it?"  This  she  had  added  with  an  air  of  amusement,  as  if 
she  were  inviting  him  to  share  the  humor  of  it.  "Yes,  it 
is,"  he  replied.  "We've  never  agreed  in  our  lives  before. 
But  our  being  the  antipodes'  of  each  other — that  will  make 
us  all  the  more  formidable  a  combination."  And  then  he 
had  felt  his  features,  which  had  relaxed  to  reciprocate  her 
mood,  grow  stern  with  the  same  thought  which  he  had 
uttered  at  the  Sphinx  Club  on  the  following  day.  "The 
influences  will  be  very  powerful,  as  you  say,  but  this  is  a 
petition  to  trustees — men  who  cannot  be  moved  except  by 
proper  influences." 


380  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

She  had  looked  at  him  in  silence.  He  saw  that  she  knew 
he  was  thinking  of  Blaisdell— the  ubiquitous  Blaisdell 
seemingly  where  they  two  were  concerned.  His  self-anal 
yzing  conscience  swiftly  told  him  that  it  was  his  turn  to 
retract  before  her  grave  almost  sphinx-like  expression  had 
passed  judgment  on  him.  What  he  had  insinuated  might 
be  uttered  anywhere  except  to  her— until  he  held  the  proofs; 
this  had  been  their  compact.  "I  beg  your  pardon — I  beg 
it  humbly.  I  had  no  right— no  right  whatever  to  drag 
that  in,"  he  said. 

The  color  had  risen  to  her  cheeks.  It  was  plain  that  she 
had  no  wish  to  conceal  either  that  she  understood  or  that 
she  appreciated  his  self -denunciation.  His  foot  had  slipped 
again — but  she  had  seen  fit  to  take  mercy  on  him,  for  she 
replied:  "Both  sides  will  rejoice,  I'm  sure,  that  only 
proper  influences  are  possible." 

What  he  did  not  know  was  that  Priscilla  had  stood  pen 
sive  for  some  moments  after  he  had  gone.  Then  her  look  of 
amusement  had  returned  and  lingered.  Now  that  she  had 
burned  her  bridges  she,  too,  wondered  at  the  ease  with 
which  her  assent  had  been  won — with  which  she  had  be 
come  his  antipodal  partner.  What  was  responsible  for 
this?  Who  but  Blaisdell— now  smoking  in  the  library 
with  her  father,  and  unaware  of  the  conspiracy  which  had 
just  been  formulated?  Her  face  grew  keener  at  the 
thought.  It  was  he  who,  on  his  arrival  before  dinner,  had 
inquired  a  little  patronizingly  if  she  still  clung  to  the  delu 
sion  that  the  Bacchante  ought  to  go,  and  who,  when  she 
nodded  and  replied:  "I  feel  more  strongly  than  ever  on 
the  subject,"  had  shown  her  Henry's  letter  in  the  Trans 
cript  which  the  sharp  eyes  of  Lora  had  detected.  It  was 
he  who,  while  she  stood  reading  the  article  under  the  light, 
had  watched  her  from  the  hearth-rug  with  the  expression 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  381 

of  good-humored  tolerance  savoring  of  reserve  power 
which  she  knew  so  well,  and  who,  when  she  looked  up  and 
said  unhesitatingly:  "It's  admirably  put,  and  right  to  the 
point.  I  agree  with  every  word  of  it,"  had  waited  a  mo 
ment  before  he  replied:  "As  a  literary  production,  it  is 
very  creditable.  Our  censor  has  shot  his  bolt — and  I  fore 
see  that  his  example  will  be  imitated  by  others — and  on 
both  sides — signed  'Pro  Bono  Publico,'  'Veritas'  or 
'Senex';  and  while  the  long-suffering  Transcript  bristles 
with  communications  from  the  Back  Bay  and  Cambridge, 
the  people  who  act  while  others  write  letters  may  be 
counted  on  not  to  remain  idle.  My  dear  Priscilla,  a  clever 
woman  like  you,  one  who  seeks  to  keep  abreast  of  the  times, 
ought  to  be  aware  that  the  men  who  accomplish  the 
things  they  undertake  in  this  modern  world  don't  work  in 
precisely  that  style.  A  letter  to  the  newspapers  is  about  as 
effective  practically  as  a  pop-gun." 

This  was  an  appeal  to  her  intelligence;  she  recognized 
it  as  such,  and  also  that  he  had  deliberately  afforded  her 
a  glimpse  behind  a  curtain  in  order  that  she  should  not 
fail  to  understand.  His  manner  insinuated  more  plainly 
than  his  words  something,  which  though  intangible,  ar 
rested  her  attention  for  the  first  time  in  their  intercourse  and 
brought  Henry's  criticisms  trooping  into  her  brain. 

"  How  do  they  work — the  men  who  accomplish  the  things 
they  undertake?"  she  asked  abruptly. 

Blaisdell  compressed  the  end  of  his  chin  with  his  hand 
and  smiled  enigmatically.  "Methods  change  as  the 
necessities  change."  He  had  desired  to  afford  her  an 
illuminating  peep  behind  the  curtain,  but  even  a  clever 
woman  should  be  content  with  generalities.  He  had 
wished  her  to  know  that  labyrinths  existed,  familiar  to  a 
few,  but  he  had  no  intention  of  supplying  a  key  to  th^> 


382  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

maze.  " Nowadays  the  affairs— the  vital  affairs  of  every 
large  city  are  really  controlled  by  a  few  big  men." 

"What  will  the  big  men  do  in  this  case?"  Her  manner 
of  asking  was  serious  yet  arch. 

"You  can  scarcely  expect  them  to  disclose  the  details  of 
their  campaign  to  an  enemy." 

"Yes,  I  am  an  enemy,  for  this  special  occasion.  I'm 
squarely  on  the  opposite  side.  Who  knows  that  some  of 
the  big  men  won't  agree  with  us?  And  I'm  not  convinced 
that  the  time  has  come  when  a  strong  letter  to  the  Trans 
cript  won't  affect  public  opinion  in  Boston.  I'm  inclined 
to  think,  Hugh,"  she  had  added  with  a  laugh,  "that  you 
don't  know  Boston  so  well  as  you  think  you  do." 

"That's  a  leaf  out  of  Henry  Sumner's  book.  He  said 
the  same  thing,  you  remember." 

"A  leaf!  So  he  did;  and  he  ought  to  be  a  much  better 
judge  than  I." 

Such  had  been  their  dialogue.  Yes,  it  was  he  who  had 
egged  her  on,  whose  serene  self-confidence  had  added 
fresh  fuel  to  the  fire  of  conviction.  That  look  when  for  a 
moment  he  had  lifted  the  veil  as  if  he  wished  to  reveal  and 
share  with  her  his  inmost  secrets  had  thrown  a  shadow  on 
her  soul — a  shadow  which  had  deepened  as  she  listened  to 
Henry's  sinister  insinuation,  and  then  had  faded  away  be 
fore  the  specific  comfort  which  the  same  speech  provided. 
Whatever  the  current  methods — influences— which  her 
ally  deplored,  he,  their  strongest  censor,  had  not  only  spon 
taneously  admitted  that  he  would  be  unable  to  derive 
proofs  of  their  existence  from  this  special  encounter  where 
she  had  taken  sides,  but  also  that  in  this  case,  if  relied  on, 
they  must  necessarily  prove  unavailing.  Therefore  her 
final  words  to  her  antipodal  partner  (she  rejoiced  in  the 
phrase)  had  been  those  of  relief.  She  had  heard  from  his 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  383 

own  lips  that  she  might  relax  for  a  little  the  vigilance 
which  he  had  forced  her  to  maintain  since  the  day  when 
she  had  listened  to  his  nameless  unproved  charges.  Not 
that  she  believed  for  an  instant  a  single  one  of  them  to  be 
true,  but  she  rejoiced  in  the  license  to  give  herself  up  to  the 
new-found  joy  of  this  prospective  game  of  battledoor  and 
shuttlecock  without  a  cloud  on  the  horizon  of  her  feminine 
ardor  for  the  fray. 

Priscilla  awoke  three  days  later  to  find  that  the  labor  of 
conviction  to  which  she  had  thus  pledged  her  energies  was 
no  sinecure.  The  artist,  Burton's  answer  to  Henry's  letter 
in  the  Transcript,  was  supplemented  by  two  other  replies 
from  independent  scources,  and  in  the  same  issue  appeared 
a  fierce  denunciation  of  the  fountain  on  the  score  of  im 
propriety  signed  by  Reverend  Mr.  Leonard.  As  Morgan 
Drake  had  predicted,  the  Bacchante  had  become  a  burn 
ing  question,  and  Boston  was  shaken  to  its  solid  centre  by 
the  convulsion  of  two  contending  forces  which  sought 
supporters  in  every  direction.  A  counter  petition  was  in  cir 
culation  engineered  by  a  committee  of  which  Oliver  Spin 
ney  was  the  chairman,  and  no  time  was  to  be  lost — so 
Henry  informed  her  over  the  telephone.  A  house-to-house 
canvass  in  her  most  becoming  frock  and  with  her  most  en 
gaging  manners — this  was  what  she  suddenly  found  herself 
committed  to;  and  when  she  was  not  thus  employed,  it 
was  necessary  to  be  closeted  with  Henry  in  order  to  com 
pare  notes  and  circumvent  the  activity  and  wiles  of  their 
opponents.  Priscilla  had  scarcely  bargained  for  such 
prominence;  yet  it  was  clearly  no  time  to  withdraw. 
Moreover,  alas!  (she  insisted  on  the  interjection),  she  had 
no  wish  to;  every  day  increased  her  ardor,  and  every  fibre 
of  her  being  was  tense  with  the  certainty  that  they  were  in 
the  right — absolutely  in  the  right.  But,  though  she  had 


384  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

scarcely  time  to  breathe,  she  recognized  that  the  spur 
which  was  driving  her  on  was  the  despised  New  England 
conscience.  Yes,  she  and  Henry  were  tarred  with  the  same 
brush.  He  was  still  infinitely  the  worse — but  they  had  be 
come  pals  through  sheer  destiny.  It  was  fate — her  heri 
tage,  her  cross,  and  she  must  make  the  best  of  it.  And  the 
best  for  the  time  being  appeared  to  be  to  follow  its  behest 
and  eat  every  word  which  she  had  hitherto  uttered  against 
those  who  chose  to  be  censors  and  to  clog  the  wheels  of 
progress.  Oh,  the  humor  of  it!  But  was  not  her  downfall 
lamentably  sad  ? 

Meanwhile  the  contest  waxed  in  intensity  every  hour. 
Numerous  recruits  were  at  Priscilla's  beck  and  call,  and 
she  had  sage  counsellors  at  her  elbow.  Miss  Georgiana 
Chippendale  pledged  not  only  her  time,  her  horses  and  her 
money,  but  sacrificed  her  principles  by  having  a  telephone 
put  into  her  house  in  order  to  be  in  constant  touch  with 
the  two  leaders.  She  wrote  notes  and  made  personal  vis 
its;  she  fumed  against  her  nephew  Chauncey,  and  she 
declined  to  receive  her  brother  Harrison  when  he  called, 
declaring  that,  like  the  action  of  waves  upon  a  rock,  his 
life-long  habit  of  catering  to  radical  ideas  had  eaten  away 
his  moral  tissue.  From  Mrs.  Sumner  Priscilla  received 
daily  suggestions  over  the  telephone,  and  twice  she  went 
to  the  Beacon  Street  house  to  talk  over  the  situation  with 
her  and  her  two  daughters.  Both  of  the  latter  were  solicit 
ing  signatures.  Mrs.  Paton  was  covering  Cambridge, 
arguing  that  questions  of  eternal  fitness  knew  no  local 
boundaries.  Her  sister  Lily  had  joined  forces  with  their 
cousin  Margaret,  the  only  one  of  the  Harrison  Chippendale 
family  who  had  remained  true,  so  Mrs.  Sumner  phrased 
it,  to  the  family  traditions.  Margaret  and  her  sister 
Dorothy  were  canvassing  as  rivals  among  their  common 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  385 

acquaintance;  and  one  day  at  luncheon  at  the  house  Pris- 
cilla  found  her  allies  agog  at  the  news  that  Georgy— 
Aunt  Georgiana's  namesake  and  the  beauty  of  the  family 
—had  not  only  inaugurated  the  plan  of  an  indignation 
meeting  of  the  admirers  of  the  fountain,  but  had  ar 
ranged  a  personal  interview  with  Mr.  Blaisdell  and  per 
suaded  him  to  preside.  Margaret,  who,  as  we  know, 
had  a  conscientious  aptitude  for  bringing  up  topics 
for  conversation  at  family  meals,  disclosed  the  facts  with 
an  air  of  triumph,  certain  of  the  sensation  they  would 
create. 

"  Only  think,"  she  said,  "  Georgy  called  on  him,  though 
mama  doesn't  know  Mrs.  Blaisdell,  and  she  says  he's 
charming.  Chauncey  knows  him  down-town  and  thinks 
he's  the  best  possible  person  to  be  chairman  because  of  his 
energy  and  resources.  I  don't  know  exactly  what  're 
sources  '  means.  I  wonder  what  Aunt  Georgiana  will  say. 
You  know  she  chopped  round  not  long  ago  and  hasn't  a 
good  word  now  for  Mr.  Blaisdell.  Oh,  I  forget;  he's  a  re 
lation  of  yours,  Miss  A  very,"  she  suddenly  exclaimed 
aghast,  warned  by  a  strong  pressure  of  Lily's  foot.  "I'm 
dreadfully  sorry." 

"Yes,  he's  my  brother-in-law  and  I  admire  him  greatly. 
But  on  this  occasion  we  don't  agree.    He's  a  great  card, 
I  fear.    His  enthusiasm  is  contagious,  and  is  certain  to 
rouse  the  meeting." 

Mrs.  Sumner  sighed  majestically.  "I  wish  he  were  on 
our  side."  This  from  her  was  indeed  a  concession.  That 
which  she  added  in  the  next  breath  was  well  calculated  to 
shock  those  who  knew  her  to  be  a  scrupulously  law-abiding 
and  temperate  woman.  "  If  it  weren't  undignified,  I  would 
like  to  break  up  the  meeting." 

The  failure  of  her  daughters  to  administer  a  reproof  was 


386  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

the  best  evidence  of  the  tensity  of  the  situation.  "The 
first  citizens,  disguised  as  Indians,  threw  the  tea  chests 
overboard — once."  It  was  Lily  who  spoke. 

"I  found  myself  saying  the  same  thing  the  other  day," 
Priscilla  could  not  refrain  from  remarking. 

Doubtless  the  reminder  that  a  comparative  stranger 
was  a  witness  to  her  hint  at  violence  and  disposed  to  be 
come  an  accomplice  caused  Mrs.  Sumner  to  recollect  what 
she  really  stood  for.  "It's  out  of  the  question,"  she  said. 
"  We  must  be  aggressive,  but  moderate.  They  have  a  right 
to  organize  as  well  as  we.  But,"  she  added,  fingering  ner 
vously  the  long  gold  chain  which  confined  her  glasses, 
"we  must  watch  and  meet  every  move  on  their  part,  Miss 
Avery — Priscilla.  Did  you  read,  my  dear,  the  editorial  in 
this  morning's  Harbinger  ?  Henry  believes  that  it  was  in 
spired,  as  he  calls  it — paid  for.  Oh,  I  despise  with  all  my 
soul  a  sheet  which  utters  one  sentiment  in  its  news  columns 
and  nullifies  it  on  the  editorial  page. 

"Who  dares  think  one  thing  and  another  tell 
My  heart  detests  him  as  the  gates  of  hell." 

Priscilla  was  thrilled  by  the  spirited  dignity  with  which 
her  hostess  uttered  the  quotation.  Was  it  Pope?  The 
people  with  New  England  consciences  at  least  were  sure 
of  their  quotations.  So  she  reflected  and  at  the  same  mo 
ment  replied:  "Your  son  called  the  editorial  to  my  atten 
tion.  He  mentioned  no  names,  did  not  even  hint.  But  I 
taxed  the  person  who  I  thought  might  have  inspired  it— 
my  brother-in-law.  He  didn't  write  it,  but  he  didn't  try  to 
conceal  that  he  knows  who  did  and  that  he  can  pull  other 
— er — strings  if  he  chooses — as  if  we  were  so  many  pup 
pets."  Priscilla  quailed  before  the  ring  of  her  own  phrase- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  387 

ology.  Could  it  be  possible  that  she  was  speaking  thus  of 
Blaisdell?  She  had  taken  pains  also  to  exculpate  Henry 
from  partnership  in  the  charge. 

Mrs.  Sumner  shuddered.  "It  is  the  time  for  all  people 
who  can  see  straight  to  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder.  I  am 
glad  that  the  clergy  are  roused  and  have  organized." 

"I  wish  we  could  do  without  them,  mama,"  said  Mrs. 
Paton.  "They  are  likely  to  misrepresent  us." 

"The  important  thing,  my  child,  is  to  get  rid  of  the 
fountain.  It  will  be  time  enough  then  to  analyze  the 
causes  which  led  to  that  result." 

"Besides,  I  tell  everybody,"  said  Lily,  "that  we  do  not 
object  to  'the  little  lady'  because  she  is  nude." 

"A  great  deal  will  depend  on  the  result  of  the  discus 
sion  at  the  Mother  Eve's  Club,"  said  Mrs.  Sumner,  laying 
her  hand  gently  on  Priscilla's  sleeve.  "  Miss  Winston,  of 
course,  has  many  followers;  but  I  shall  speak  myself,  and 
you  must  certainly  do  so." 

Priscilla  found  herself  consenting — like  clay  in  the 
hands  of  the  potter,  as  she  afterward  reflected.  If  she 
chose  to  believe  that  the  promise  had  been  extracted  from 
her,  she  knew  as  she  faced  the  meeting  four  days  later,  that 
she  was  tasting  the  joys  of  combat,  as  well  as  fulfilling 
her  pledge.  On  the  occasions  when  she  had  spoken  at  the 
Mother  Eve's  Club  she  had  been  conscious  of  listeners. 
She  coveted  the  art  of  speaking  well  on  her  feet;  it  was  so 
eminently  practical.  She  would  say  what  she  had  to  say 
in  no  diffident,  mealy-mouthed  manner;  she  would  make 
herself  thoroughly  audible;  every  one  should  feel  at  all 
events  that  she  harbored  no  "ifs"  and  "buts,"  and  that  she 
had  complete  faith  in  her  cause.  Blaisdell  had  taught  her 
this  at  least.  There  she  ought  to  have  the  advantage  of 
Miss  Winston,  whose  voice  was  feeble  from  recurring 


388  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

laryngitis  and  who  always  qualified  her  utterances  from 
a  constitutional  fear  of  over-statement. 

It  could  be  said  fairly  of  exciting  debates  at  the  Mother 
Eve's  Club  that  it  was  in  order  for  every  one  to  talk  at  once. 
More  strictly  speaking,  it  was  out  of  order,  but  the  habit. 
No  one  forbore  to  talk  or  felt  constrained  to  listen  because 
some  other  woman  appeared  to  hold  the  floor,  unless  the 
spirit  moved.  And  the  spirit  rarely  moved  except  in  the 
case  of  a  few  individuals  who  towered  rhetorically  above 
the  rest.  Mrs.  Sumner  and  Miss  Winston  were  both 
among  these  privileged  speakers,  the  former  as  a  woman 
of  aristocratic  traditions  who  cherished  lofty  ideals,  the 
latter  as  a  subtle  thinker  capable  of  nice  discriminations. 
Yet  habitually  privileged  as  they  were,  so  intense  was 
the  feeling  on  this  occasion  that  neither  escaped  inter 
ruptions.  At  the  moment  when  Mrs.  Sumner  was  ex 
plaining  in  her  stately  way  why  the  statue  was  intrinsically 
unworthy,  no  less  than  three  other  members  forgot  them 
selves  so  far  as  to  address  those  nearest  them  in  excited 
tones.  In  the  case  of  Miss  Winston,  who  depended  largely 
for  her  effect  on  closely  reasoned  logic,  the  noise  was  even 
more  disconcerting.  If  Mrs.  Sumner  had  looked  affronted, 
she  appeared  distressed.  The  secret  sense  of  the  meeting 
was  that  neither  had  done  herself  justice;  that  the  question 
was  left  just  where  it  had  been  before  they  began  to 
speak. 

Priscilla  had  scarcely  opened  her  lips  before  there  was  a 
lull,  which  became  complete  as  she  proceeded.  Those  who 
listened,  if  they  sought  a  reason  why  their  regular  orators 
had  seemed  labored,  must  have  concluded  that  in  com 
parison  with  her  they  were  old-fashioned.  She  spoke  so 
simply,  so  forcibly,  so  clearly,  so  enthusiastically,  and  so 
briefly.  Every  woman  in  the  room  could  hear  each  word 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  389 

without  straining  her  ears,  and  she  showed  no  affectations. 
Even  those  who  purposed  to  scoff  or  to  interrupt  were 
spellbound  and  held  their  peace;  she  had  finished  and 
resumed  her  seat  before  they  had  recovered  from  their 
fascination.  Then  the  hubbub  was  renewed,  but  with 
a  difference.  The  tide  had  been  turned;  the  waverers  had 
been  won  over.  When  the  vote  was  taken  five  minutes  later 
the  Mother  Eve's  Club  had  committed  itself  against  the 
Bacchante — by  the  vote  of  56  to  41 — one  of  the  largest 
meetings  in  its  history.  For  Priscilla  it  was  a  personal  tri 
umph.  Her  confederates  flocked  around  her  to  press  her 
hand,  and  Mrs.  Sumner  whispered,  "When  they  treated 
me  so  rudely,  child,  I  feared  that  the  day  was  lost,  but  you 
were  a  host  in  yourself.  I  have  never  seen  the  club  so  agi 
tated  over  anything." 

So  much  was  gained,  and  somewhat,  Priscilla  could  feel, 
by  her  personal  efforts.  But  the  Mother  Eve's  Club  was 
only  one  of  many  forces.  On  the  same  side  were  most  of 
the  clergy,  half  of  the  art  critics,  and  many  representative 
citizens;  against  these  were  arrayed  other  representative 
citizens,  the  rest  of  the  art  critics  and  the  majority  of  the 
Sphinx  Club.  Every  day  some  new  body — male  or  female 
in  its  membership — put  itself  on  record  for  or  against. 
Every  one  of  any  importance  and  hundreds  of  none  had 
been  canvassed  to  express  an  opinion.  If  they  "hedged," 
like  Mrs.  Paul  Dudley,  for  instance,  they  were  pilloried  in 
the  minds  of  both  factions.  Each  side  had  its  monster 
petition,  the  result  of  many  comings  and  goings  by  a  well- 
organized  if  hysterical  staff.  Priscilla  herself  was  the  cus 
todian  of  the  one  and  Oliver  Spinney  of  the  other.  Thus 
far  the  trustees  had  given  no  indication  as  to  their  probable 
action;  presumably  they  were  waiting  for  these  formidable 
documents  which  were  known  to  be  nearly  ready  for  sub- 


390  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

mission.  Certain  people  were  on  their  way  from  Europe, 
or  were  in  too  deep  mourning  to  be  approached  for  a  few 
days — hence  the  delay.  Meanwhile  those  most  interested 
were  on  tenter  hooks,  and  cudgelling  their  brains  for  fresh 
ammunition,  while  the  buzz  of  the  controversy  was  begin 
ning  to  be  heard  in  every  ward  of  the  city.  It  was  currently 
reported  that  Mr.  Blaisdell  and  Mr.  Coldthurst  had 
fallen  out  at  a  meeting  of  the  directors  of  Electric  Coke 
because  of  their  opposite  views  regarding  the  Bacchante, 
and  that  the  latter  had  lost  his  temper  and  threatened  to 
resign.  To  cap  this  climax,  one  of  Miss  Georgiana  Chip 
pendale's  fat  carriage  horses  dropped  dead  on  Beacon  Hill 
as  a  direct  result  of  overwork  in  pursuit  of  signatures. 

Henry's  congratulations  on  her  brilliant  performance  at 
the  Mother  Eve's  Club  were  lavishly  bestowed  on  Pris- 
cilla.  Did  it  not  more  than  justify  his  belief  that  she  would 
be  the  most  effective  of  leaders?  He  did  not  conceal  his 
delight;  but,  literally,  this  was  no  time  for  love  affairs; 
success  hung  in  the  balance  and  the  evenings  were  not  long 
enough  for  necessary  discussion  of  the  constantly  changing 
aspects  of  the  situation.  But  in  this  daily  intercourse  they 
had  begun  to  talk  with  a  frankness  which  spared  no  indi 
vidual,  provided  he  or  she  were  an  enemy,  and  which  at 
last  found  itself  tracing  most  clews  to  the  same  source. 
There  was  no  longer  hesitation  on  the  part  of  either  of 
them  in  mentioning  Blaisdell  by  name.  Direct  proofs  of 
complicity  in  this  or  that  machination  were  usually  miss 
ing — but  suspicion  almost  invariably  pointed  in  the  same 
direction.  Yet,  though  Henry,  when  it  came  to  the  point, 
did  not  mince  his  words,  the  accusation  most  frequently 
proceeded  from  Priscilla,  and  generally  in  consequence  of 
virtual  admissions  by  the  chief  enemy  himself.  And 
strangely  enough — for  it  puzzled  her — these  thinly-veiled 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  391 

smiles  and  knowing  insinuations  of  responsibility  were  not 
wrung  from  him  by  taxing,  but  were  deliberately  proffered 
to  her  as  if  to  repeat  his  good-humored  warning  that  her 
cause  was  doomed  to  defeat  and,  like  a  juggler  brimming 
over  with  affability,  to  let  her  see  the  cards  disappearing 
up  his  sleeve.  Did  he  control  certain  newspapers?  Un 
questionably;  why  not?  Were  certain  organizations  of 
which  he  was  the  financial  mainstay  clamorous  for  the  re 
tention  of  the  fountain?  So  it  seemed;  he  gloried  in  the 
fact.  Was  the  uglier  rumor  true  that  certain  impecunious 
individuals  both  down-town  and  up  were  giving  their  whole 
time  to  canvassing  signatures  ?  His  twinkling  eyes  did  not 
deny  the  soft  impeachment;  was  not  the  laborer  worthy  of 
his  hire? 

Priscilla  refrained  from  stopping  to  think.  If  her  former 
champion  refused  to  disclaim  responsibility  for  certain  re 
sults,  she  was  exonerated  from  doing  so  for  him.  If  it  were 
no  time  for  love  affairs — as  surely  it  was  not — it  was  none 
for  passing  judgment,  simply  time  for  accepting  live  facts 
and  endeavoring  to  counteract  or  minimize  their  influence. 
Thus  she  not  only  found  herself  able  to  listen  calmly  to 
the  evidence  which  Henry  accumulated  down- town,  but  she 
did  not  shrink  from  formulating  for  his  ears  the  hints  which 
Blaisdell  let  fall.  If  she  needed  a  stimulant,  Hugh's  con 
tinuous  serenity,  which  never  wavered,  provided  one.  He 
seemed  to  regard  them  both  as  children. 

A  week  after  the  vote  at  the  Mother  Eve's  Club 
Henry  came  in  one  afternoon  for  his  daily  confabulation 
with  a  light  in  his  eyes  which  told  her  that  he  had  some 
thing  important  to  divulge. 

"I  have  challenged  your  brother-in-law,"  he  said,  "to 
a  joint  debate  before  the  trustees  of  the  library."  He 
waited  a  moment  evidently  expecting  the  surprise  which 


392  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Priscilla  did  not  attempt  to  conceal.    "  My  only  fear  is  that 
he  will  not  accept." 

"Why  shouldn't  he  accept?" 

" Because  he  professes  to  make  fun  of  the  opposition; 
to  think  us— especially  me,  of  no  importance." 

Priscilla  drew  a  long  breath.  "That  has  been  his  con 
stant  attitude — and  a  very  provoking  one." 

"My  only  hope  is  that,  realizing  his  inability  in  this 
case  to  manipulate  the  strings,  he  may  decide  that  to 
crush  me  in  the  presence  of  all  Boston  is  his  best  oppor 
tunity." 

"  I  see."  There  was  just  a  shade  of  consternation  in  her 
tone  which,  far  from  resenting,  he  deliberately  catered  to 
by  adding,  "I  am  fully  alive  to  the  risk— the  inequality 
between  us.  I  am  only  David  with  a  sling  and  he  is  a 
modern  giant." 

"You  do  look  like  David;  you  certainly  do."  The 
comparison  evidently  entertained  and  appealed  to  her. 
"And  to  tell  the  truth,  Hugh  has  in  this  instance  behaved 
like  a  Philistine— a  modern  Philistine." 

"  I  think  so,  of  course."  A  moment  later  he  said :  "  You 
would  present  the  case  more  effectively  than  I;  I  know 
that  perfectly  well.  But  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  to 
abdicate;  for  even  if  this  were  the  occasion  on  which  a 
woman  should  take  the  leading  part,  I  covet  this  particular 
opportunity." 

He,  the  prudent,  was  throwing  prudence  to  the  winds; 
he,  the  conventional,  was  staking  their  cause  on  a  single 
chance;  he,  her  ally,  had  acted  without  consulting  her. 
"I?  I  should  remain  tongue-tied  before  the  magnetism  of 
this  modern  Goliath.  On  what  do  you  rely  for  a  sling, 
David?"  Priscilla  did  not  disguise  that  she  had  become 
the  doubter  now. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  393 

"On  the  mere  truth.  The  time  has  never  been  when 
Boston  would  not  listen  to  and  heed  the  truth  clearly 
stated." 

A  Puritan  David  truly!  His  expression  recalled  to  her 
the  statues  of  the  minute  men  of  Concord,  the  old-time 
photographs  of  the  young  volunteers  of  '61  in  their  regi 
mentals;  there  was  the  same  ascetic,  resolute  ardor,  the 
same  wistful  austerity.  His  observant  eagle  profile  was 
radiant  with  a  familiar  poetry — a  poetry  to  which  she  had 
chosen  to  be  blind.  He  stood  like  his  forbears  for  fighting 
for  the  truth  as  he  saw  it,  and — strange  irony  of  destiny— 
that  transfigured  gaze  bade  her  plainly  understand  that  the 
image  of  her,  the  despiser  of  his  creed,  was  imprinted  on 
the  fabric  of  his  cause.  It  bade  her  understand  that  for  her 
sake  he  had  risked  all — even  the  truth  for  which  he  stood 
— on  one  hazard.  A  desperate  hazard  truly,  of  which  he 
would  make  her  the  scapegoat,  if  all  were  lost.  Priscilla 
smiled  to  herself;  then,  as  she  regarded  her  suitor,  this 
verse  long  dormant — her  father  had  taught  it  to  her  when 
a  little  girl — stole  into  her  thoughts. 

"Though  love  repine  and  reason  chafe, 
There  came  a  voice  without  reply — • 
°Tis  man's  perdition  to  be  safe 
When  for  the  truth  he  ought  to  die.' " 

It  was  not  for  her  to  interfere  or  criticise.  It  was  all  of 
his  doing;  he  had  issued  the  challenge  without  consulta 
tion  and  of  his  own  free  will.  If  he  and  her  cause — their 
cause — were  doomed  to  defeat,  she  had  at  least  this  to 
comfort  her — that  he  had  shown  himself  unjustifiably  rash 
but  commendably  human. 


394  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

CHAPTER  XX 

IT  was  Blaisdell's  abiding  conviction  that,  had  he  not 
been  summoned  hastily  from  the  meeting  where  he  and 
Henry  had  agreed  to  lock  horns  in  joint  debate,  the  Bac 
chante  would  never  have  been  removed  from  Boston. 

His  speech  had  been  nipped  in  the  bud  at  the  critical 
moment.  All  Boston  was  present.  Henry,  the  challenger, 
had  spoken  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  and  his  turn  to 
reply  had  come.  He  had  begun  by  classing  his  opponent 
with  those  who  deemed  the  fountain  " unworthy"  because 
of  the  nudity  of  the  central  figure  and  who  would  fain 
clothe  all  masterpieces.  At  this  point  Henry  had  sprung 
to  his  feet  and  lost  his  temper,  as  he  had  hoped. 

"You  know  better,  Mr.  Blaisdell.  I  have  more  than 
once  explained  to  you  that  Mr.  Leonard's  objections  to 
the  fountain  and  ours — those  of  the  citizens  whom  I  rep 
resent — have  very  little  in  common.' 

This  had  given  Blaisdell  the  opening  which  he  desired. 
The  censorious  Sumner  could  always  be  counted  on  to 
display  sooner  or  later  a  lack- of  tact.  "You  have  inter 
rupted  me,"  he  resumed,  "though  I  never  once  interrupted 
you  during  the  course  of  your  eloquent  peroration.  But 
I  welcome  the  interruption;  for,  if  I  do  not  mistake  the 
murmurs  which  your  last  remark  has  called  forth—.  An 
other  interruption  ?  Certainly;  I  yield  the  floor  for  a  mo 
ment  with  pleasure  to  my  friend,  Mr.  Coldthurst,  whose 
voice  I  recognize." 

'"I  rise  merely  to  state  that  I  hold  in  my  hand  a  petition 
signed  by  over  4000  men  and  women  of  Boston  who  are 
not  afraid  to  put  themselves  on  record  as  opposed  to  the 
nude  in  art  if  this  statue  is  to  be  recognized  as  a  master 
piece.  That's  all." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  395 

"I  see  I  am  not  mistaken.  I  see,  too,  that  the  gentle 
man — my  friend — who  has  just  sat  down  has  the  complete 
courage  of  his  convictions — which  it  seems  that  his  allies 
have  not.  A  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand." 
Blaisdell  had  been  looking  over  the  heads  of  Henry's  ad 
herents  to  that  part  of  the  hall  occupied  by  the  faction 
to  which  Mr.  Coldthurst  belonged.  Turning  now  so  that 
he  squarely  faced  the  trustees  he  had  continued  with 
telling  emphasis.  "But  I  have  the  boldness  to  assert — 
if  it  be  boldness — that  there  is  no  division  between  them. 
The  reason  for  the  opposition  of  each  is  identical,  though 
one  of  them  may  call  it  by  a  different  name.  There  is 
such  a  condition  as  self-deception — honest,  but  none  the 
less  palpable  self-deception.  I  intend  to  analyze  the  argu 
ment  of  my  predecessor  and  to  make  clear  to  you  beyond 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  it  is  because  this  masterpiece 
— I  do  not  shrink  from  the  word — represents  the  nude  with 
convincing  but  unconventional  freedom  that  it  is  repug 
nant  to  these  gentlemen  and  ladies  from  the  Back  Bay  as 
well  as  to  the  4000  signers  who  condemn  it  openly  on 
that  score.  I  will  make  this  so  evident  before  I  finish  that 
I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  some  of  these  true  lovers  of  art 
—as  I  believe  them  to  be — ask  permission  to  sign  our 
petition  in  order  not  to  remain  longer  in  the  same  boat 
with  my  friend  Mr.  Coldthurst." 

As  he  paused  Blaisdell  had  turned  an  amiable  side 
glance  in  Henry's  direction  as  if  he  expected — perhaps 
hoped  for — another  ebullition  of  temper,  and  at  that  very 
moment  some  one  had  plucked  his  sleeve  and  he  had  been 
informed  of  the  imperative  summons  from  home;  Lora 
was  gravely  ill  and  he  must  come  at  once. 

His  wife  had  been  ailing  for  several  days,  and  during 
the  last  twenty-four  hours  she  had  suffered  considerable 


396  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

pain.  Attendance  at  the  meeting,  to  which  she  had  been 
gaily  looking  forward,  had  been  tabooed  by  the  physician 
who  hinted  at  appendicitis.  Her  mother  had  remained  at 
her  bedside  to  keep  her  company,  and  though  Blaisdell 
suspected  when  he  read  the  note  which  the  messenger 
brought  that  Mrs.  Avery  had  magnified  the  gravity  of  the 
case,  he  could  not  disregard  the  mandate  to  the  effect 
that  Lora  must  be  operated  on  that  night  and  he  must 
come  without  delay.  It  was  very  unfortunate,  for  who 
should  take  his  place?  There  were  half  a  dozen  of  his 
confederates  bubbling  over  with  enthusiasm.  He  ran 
through  their  qualifications  hastily  in  his  mind.  Burton  ? 
Spinney  ?  Chauncey  Chippendale  ?  No  one  of  them  had 
seemed  to  him  exactly  the  man.  He  himself  was  the  only 
person  thoroughly  prepared ;  he  had  been  looking  forward 
to  toying  with  and  finally  crushing  Priscilla's  ally  as  a  cat 
disposes  of  a  mouse.  And  yet,  as  a  generous  antagonist,  he 
was  ready  to  admit  that  Henry  had  acquitted  himself  more 
convincingly  and  less  like  an  amateur  than  he  had  ex 
pected.  So  much  the  more  reason  for  endeavoring  to 
make  him  lose  his  temper.  So  much  the  greater  need  of 
an  adequate  presentation  of  their  case.  Postponement? 
It  was  imperative  to  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot,  for  they 
could  never  hope  for  another  such  crowded  meeting.  An 
adjournment  to  enable  him  to  complete  his  argument 
would  put  a  damper  on  their  cause.  So  reflecting,  he  had 
made  his  excuses  to  the  trustees,  and  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment  had  suggested  to  his  flustered  associates,  "Why 
not  Chauncey  Chippendale?"  The  latter  was  as  likely  as 
any  of  the  others  to  make  a  creditable  showing.  If  the 
effort  were  a  success,  Chauncey  would  owe  the  opportunity 
to  him.  If  the  Bacchante  were  banished  from  Boston, 
Chauncey's  prestige  must  inevitably  suffer. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  N    397 

The  Bacchante  had  been  banished  from  Boston.  Even 
the  poignant  distress  of  the  last  month  had  not  rendered 
Blaisdell  impervious  to  the  smart  of  defeat— failure  in  car 
rying  out  what  he  had  set  his  heart  on  performing.  Indeed, 
the  decision  of  the  trustees  had  not  been  rendered  until 
after  the  first  agony  of  his  bereavement  was  over  and  he 
had  lifted  his  disconsolate  head  to  face  the  world  alone. 
Lora — his  little  Lora,  was  dead— buried  in  Mt.  Auburn, 
and  one  of  the  consequences  of  her  fatal  illness  in  his  eyes 
had  been  the  triumph  of  the  narrow-minded  element  in 
Boston  over  those  who,  like  himself,  were  striving  to  eradi 
cate  provincialism. 

Death  was  one  of  the  forces  of  life  which  Blaisdell  hither 
to  had  disregarded.  Not  only  were  his  affections  grievously 
wounded,  but  destiny  had  dealt  him  a  buffet  between  the 
eyes  and  his  relations  with  her  were  strained.  It  was  no 
comfort  to  him  to  be  informed  that  no  human  power  could 
have  saved  his  wife;,  that,  although  one  of  the  most  skilful 
of  surgeons  had  performed  the  operation  within  an  hour 
after  his  hurried  return  from  the  trustees'  meeting,  the 
abscess  had  already  broken  and  blood  poisoning  begun  to 
set  in.  As  he  looked  at  Lora  in  her  casket — Blaisdell  pre 
ferred  a  casket  as  being  less  funereal  and  stiff  than  "cof 
fin,"  just  as  he  fancied  the  phrase  " floral  tributes"— he 
shrank  from  the  appalling  knowledge  that  his  gay-hearted, 
sensible,  practical  little  wife  would  never  speak  again. 
How  devoted  she  had  been  to  him!  She  worshipped  the 
ground  he  trod  on;  and  he  had  idolized  her.  How  she 
loved  life !  And  how  cruel,  how  incomprehensible  that  she 
should  be  snatched  away  just  as  her  ambitions  were  about 
to  be  realized  and  her  complete  happiness  assured. 

Blaisdell  brushed  away  the  tears  which  welled  into  his 
eyes  at  this  reminder  that  Lora's  last  days  had  been  em- 


398  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

bittered — yes,  embittered — by  that  same  Boston  provin 
cialism.  There  were  scores  to  be  settled  when  she  had 
been  laid  to  rest.  But  for  the  moment  the  last  sad  rites 
must  be  considered ;  he  wished  her  to  have  a  lavish  funeral 
— a  beautiful  funeral.  When  his  mother-in-law  inquired 
whether  he  desired  to  have  inserted  in  the  newspaper  notice 
''friends  are  kindly  requested  not  to  send  flowers, "he  al 
most  fiercely  answered:  "Buried  without  flowers?  The 
darling  delighted  in  flowers,  as  she  did  in  everything  bright 
and  joyous  and  wholesome.  There  shall  be  flowers  every 
where,  and  the  more  who  send  them,  the  more  she  would 
be  pleased." 

"I  told  Priscilla  so.  She  had  a  notion  that  Lora  might 
like  it  the  other  way — or — as  is  usual  now  on  the  Back 
Bay." 

"Because  they  are  all  so  bent  on  stifling  their  emotions 
— so  afraid  of  letting  the  milk  of  human  kindness  have  full 
sway.  I  shall  be  glad  if  every  one  in  Boston  who  knew 
Lora  feels  impelled  to  testify  by  floral  tributes  what  a  dear 
little  woman  she  was."  Then  after  a  pause,  he  inquired 
suddenly:  "Priscilla  suggested  that?  I  don't  understand 
what  has  come  over  Priscilla  lately.  One  would  suppose 
that  she  would  like  to  have  the  final  leave-taking  as  bright 
and  beautiful  as  we  can  make  it — and  the  dear  one  would 
have  us  make  it."  Blaisdell's  heart  ached.  His  step 
sister's  manifest  and  freely  proffered  sympathy  had  already 
been  a  great  comfort  to  him.  But  this  discord  gave  a  fresh 
wrench  to  his  nerves.  What  had  possessed  her  to  take  such 
a  distorted  view  ? 

"She  said  something,"  continued  Mrs.  Avery,  "to  the 
effect  that  when  every  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  sends  them, 
flowers  become  an  intrusion.  I  guess,  though,  that  even 
Boston  exclusiveness  can't  dam  up  human  sympathy." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  399 

"Amen!"  murmured  Blaisdell,  for  his  mother-in-law 
had  condensed  his  own  sentiments  into  an  epigram. 

Boston  had  risen  nobly  to  the  occasion.  At  least,  it 
seemed  so  to  the  sorrowing  husband  and  mother.  "How 
shocking  the  death  of  poor  little  Mrs.  Blaisdell  with  every 
thing  to  live  for  and  two  children  of  the  age  when  they 
most  need  a  mother's  care;  and  she  was  just  beginning  to 
be  known  socially!  Isn't  it  sad ?" — such  was  the  commis 
erating  comment  which  ran  from  lip  to  lip  among  those 
who  heard  the  tidings.  One  touch  of  nature  makes  the 
whole  Back  Bay  kin;  and  even  to  those  who  looked  askance 
at  Lora's  aggressiveness,  the  circumstances  seemed  unu 
sually  pathetic.  She  was  so  young  and  pretty,  and  if  she 
had  lived,  there  was  no  knowing  what  her  husband's  mar 
vellous  capacity  for  money-making,  combined  with  her  own 
clothes,  might  have  secured  for  her.  Hers  was  one  of  the 
cases  where  people  went  out  of  their  way,  as  Morgan 
Drake  put  it,  to  send  flowers.  In  saying  so  he  recalled  how 
he  had  shuddered  some  years  previous  when  Blais 
dell,  speaking  of  the  death  of  a  common  acquaintance, 
had  said:  "I  didn't  know  him  well  enough  to  go  to  the 
funeral,  but  I  sent  some  roses."  Well-bred  Boston  did 
not  thus  overstep  the  mark,  but  some,  who  felt  in  their 
hearts  that  they  had  been,  perhaps,  a  little  hard  on  Lora, 
decided  to  do  both  after  making  sure  from  a  perusal  of  the 
Transcript  that  they  would  not  be  taking  a  liberty.  On 
the  other  hand,  Blaisdell's  intimate  friends  down-town — his 
partner  Delano  and  Mr.  Coldthurst  and  Mr.  Spencer  for 
instance — ordered  elaborate  floral  designs.  They  wished 
to  do  the  handsome  thing  and  they  knew  instinctively  that 
Blaisdell,  who  had  been  their  benefactor  on  many  occa 
sions,  would  expect  it  on  this  day  of  great  tribulation. 

The  roses  sent  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chauncey  Chippendale 


400  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

were  in  perfect  taste  but  the  most  exquisite  of  their  kind. 
Miss  Georgiana  had  temporarily  dismissed  her  prejudices 
and  sent  a  wreath  of  ivy — on  the  plea  of  her  affection  for 
Priscilla.  Trinity  Church  was  crowded.  Reporters,  all 
of  them  known  personally  to  Blaisdell,  were  present  with 
their  note-books.  The  chancel  was  a  mass  of  color — the 
work  of  professional  decorators  supervised  by  Priscilla, 
and  the  singing  was  a  conspicuous  feature.  There  was  a 
moment  when  BlaisdelPs  mood  inclined  him  to  dispense 
with  every  form  of  mourning.  "She  has  a  smile  on  her 
lips — she  looks  as  though  she  were  asleep.  We  will  have 
no  dirges — only  joyous  music,"  he  said.  Then  he  broke 
down  before  the  silence  of  the  dead  and  suffered  the  con 
ventionalities  to  be  observed.  It  was  an  impressive  funeral. 
The  newspapers  gave  space  to  it  and  mentioned  the  names 
of  those  present  from  diverse  walks  of  life.  That  portion 
of  Boston  which  had  never  heard  of  Mrs.  Hugh  McDowell 
Blaisdell  surmised  that  some  one  out  of  the  common  had 
died,  and  among  that  portion  which  had  there  were  some 
who,  after  a  decent  pause,  ventured  to  wonder  out  loud  in 
the  privacy  of  their  homes  how  long  her  husband  would 
remain  single.  "I  give  him  two  years  at  furthest,"  said 
Mrs.  Harrison  Chippendale.  "  A  man  so  rich  as  he  is  re 
puted  to  be,  with  two  young  children,  is  certain  to  marry; 
ought  to  marry,  perhaps.  But  I  only  hope  for  the  sake  of 
Boston  that  he  will  wait  a  year." 

Harder  to  bear  even  than  the  days  prior  to  the  obsequies 
had  been  those  immediately  following  them  when  at  every 
step  Blaisdell  encountered  some  new  reminder  of  his  wife. 
But  it  was  characteristic  of  him  to  endeavor  from  the  mo 
ment  Lora  was  buried  to  throw  off  the  incubus  of  sorrow 
which  destiny  had  laid  upon  his  spirit.  Everything  must 
go  on  just  as  before;  everything  must  be  done  just  as  Lora 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  401 

would  have  wished  it.  Her  jewelled  work-box,  her  port 
folio  and  other  personal  possessions  must  not  be  touched  or 
removed.  A  death  mask  had  been  taken;  he  would  have 
a  charming  bust  of  her  features,  and  her  portrait  should 
be  painted  by  the  greatest  living  artist,  for  nothing  which 
he  possessed  did  her  full  justice.  He  talked  of  her  freely, 
and  directed  that  the  children  should  be  encouraged  to  do 
the  same.  So  far  as  was  humanly  possible  he  would  be 
cheerful — confront  the  inevitable  with  fortitude.  Lora 
would  wish  him  to  mourn  her  profoundly — there  had 
been  almost  a  touch  of  greediness  in  her  desire  to  be  loved; 
but  she  would  be  the  first  to  recognize  that  what  must  be 
must  be  and  to  bid  him  to  renew  valiantly  the  struggle  of 
life.  It  would  be  a  struggle;  existence  had  lost  its  zest. 
Yet  it  was  his  duty  for  the  sake  of  the  children  not  to 
let  his  grief  sap  his  energies. 

The  children !  How  ambitious  she  would  have  been  for 
them.  Dorothy  was  nearly  fourteen;  the  boy  not  quite 
twelve;  just  at  the  formative  age.  Their  education  would 
be  an  absorbing  interest.  There  was  the  dancing  class; 
Blaisdell  recalled  Lora's  solicitude — her  indignation  at  her 
failure  to  have  Dorothy  included.  Here  was  one  matter 
to  be  rectified  promptly  or  there  would  be  trouble — • 
trouble  down-town.  And  the  dear  little  woman  had  never 
been  invited  to  the  Puritan  balls,  on  which  her  heart  was 
set.  Yes,  there  were,  indeed,  scores  to  settle  and  the  chil 
dren's  future  to  be  made  secure.  The  boy  should  go  to 
Harvard  and  to  Europe  afterward ;  travel,  learn  languages, 
and  have  every  advantage  which  great  wealth  could  com 
mand;  and  he  would  see  that  there  was  no  house  in  Bos 
ton  so  exclusive  that  Lora's  daughter  was  not  welcome. 
She  should  have  the  handsomest  coming-out  ball  ever 
eiven  in  the  city,  and  her  marriage  portion  should  match 


402  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

that  of  any  princess.  Lora  was  in  the  grave,  but  in  her 
children,  flesh  of  her  flesh,  spirit  of  her  spirit,  she  still 
survived. 

As  he  thus  lifted  his  stricken  head  to  face  the  future,  the 
first  impression  which  Blaisdell  received  was  that  his  sister- 
in-law  understood  his  purpose  and  was  silently — tenderly 
abetting  it.  She  had  stepped  into  the  breach  and  been  at 
his  right  hand  from  the  hour  when  death  had  entered  the 
house,  looking  after  the  children  and  taking  charge  of  the 
minor  arrangements,  for  Mrs.  Avery  was  limp  and  dumb 
from  grief.  From  the  moment  when  she  had  come  to  him 
with  outstretched-  hands  and  eyes  which  revealed  the 
depths  of  the  sorrow  and  sympathy  which  she  forbore  to 
put  into  words  he  knew  that  she  yearned  with  all  her  heart 
to  help  and  to  spare  him.  He  understood  that  she  was 
there  to  do,  and,  if  possible,  anticipate  his  bidding;  she 
asked  no  unnecessary  questions,  she  shielded  him  from 
minor  responsibilities;  she  moved  noiselessly  yet  alertly 
about  the  house,  giving  needed  instructions,  and  now  that 
the  funeral  was  over,  maintaining  the  domestic  routine, 
until  such  time  as  he  should  choose  to  assume  control. 
She  had  disciplined  her  grief;  her  face  wore  an  aspect  of 
hardy  brightness  as  if  her  thought  were,  "I  cannot  hope  to 
console  you,  but  life  must  be  taken  up  again  in  the  old 
grooves  and  I  am  here  to  aid  you  to  be  cheerful."  Did  she 
not  divine  his  willingness  to  speak  of  Lora?  Second 
his  wish  that  nothing  should  be  changed  and  everything  go 
on  as  if  his  wife  were  still  mistress  of  his  house  ?  She  sat 
with  him  every  evening  in  the  large,  lonely  library,  and 
they  talked  of  the  dead — of  the  sort  of  monument  he  should 
erect  to  her  memory — a  hospital? — a  training  school  for 
girls  ?— of  the  marble  bass-relief  which  he  hoped  to  have 
executed  by  St.  Gaudens  and  of  the  bust  he  intended 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  403 

to  order.  Usually  Mrs.  Avery  was  in  the  room,  but  her 
habitual  loquacity  seemed  stayed,  as  if  her  well-spring  of 
life  had  been  frozen  at  the  source  by  the  icy  hand  which 
had  robbed  her  of  her  only  child. 

And  yet  it  was  his  mother-in-law  who  presently  had 
reminded  Blaisdell  that  this  interregnum  could  not  last,  and 
who  forced  the  sternly  practical  on  his  attention.  Some 
thing  definite  must  be  arranged  about  the  children.  Ought 
they  not  to  have  a  governess — a  superior  person  who  would 
care  for  them  when  she  and  Priscilla  were  not  at  hand  ? 
She  herself  and  Priscilla  would  see  as  much  as  possible  of 
the  poor  little  darlings,  but  at  best  they  must  necessarily 
be  without  a  suitable  supervising  eye  many  hours  of  every 
day.  And  the  right  sort  of  woman  should  combine  the 
qualities  of  house-keeper  and  be  able  to  save  Hugh  the 
worry  of  looking  after  the  servants  and  ordering  dinner. 

This  suggestion  was  broached  by  Mrs.  Avery  one  even 
ing  after  she  had  been  sitting  for  over  an  hour  without 
speaking.  Blaisdell  had  forgotten  her  presence  in  the 
large  room  which  was  lighted  only  by  two  shaded  lamps; 
her  voice  issuing  from  a  remote  corner  in  shadow  broke  in 
upon  his  dialogue  with  Priscilla  beside  the  embers  of  the 
wood  fire. 

"Something  definite  ought  to  be  decided  about  the 
children." 

Having  thus  broken  the  spell  of  silence,  Mrs.  Avery 
became  tearfully  verbose;  but  though  her  phrases  issued 
jerkily,  their  purport  as  a  whole  was  unmistakably  definite. 

When  she  paused  Blaisdell  did  not  answer  for  a  moment. 
"A  governess?  A  house-keeper?  There  must  be  some 
one  to  look  after  the  children,  of  course;  but  the  right  indi 
vidual  or  no  one.  It  may  take  months  to  find  her.  I  do 
not  feel  like  considering  the  matter  just  yet." 


404  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"But  when  Priscilla  goes  the  motherless  dears  ought  to 
have  some  one  besides  the  servants,  even  though  you  are 
obliged  to  change.  As  their  grandmother,  I  think  you 
should  advertise  immediately.  It's  a  painful  idea  having 
any  one — er — new  in  the  house;  but  you  yourself,  Hugh, 
keep  saying  that  everything  must  go  on  just  as  Lora  would 
wish;  and  I'm  sure  the  poor  child  would  wish  you  to  en 
gage  some  superior  rather  elderly  person  right  away,  even 
if  she  isn't  perfection.  Otherwise  the  darlings  will  be 
terribly  lonely.  A  man  doesn't  know,  Hugh— a  man 
doesn't  know,  no  matter  how  clever  he  may  be.  I  leave  it 
to  Priscilla." 

Mrs.  Avery  had  never  taken  so  firm  a  stand  against  her 
son-in-law  during  the  whole  course  of  his  married  life,  and 
her  sudden  change  from  a  state  of  mental  coma  to  one  bor 
dering  on  garrulous  opposition  prompted  Blaisdell  to  turn 
toward  the  authority  appealed  to.  He  judged  her  impor 
tunity  to  be  the  result  of  disordered  nerves.  But  if  Priscilla 
agreed  that  the  matter  was  urgent,  he  might  be  willing  to 
consider  it  further. 

"I  am  in  no  haste  to  go  home  again;  I'm  ready  to  re 
main  with  the  children  so  long  as  Hugh  desires — if  he 
wishes  me  to  stay.  Sooner  or  later  he  will  find  the  proper 
person." 

Priscilla's  offer  was  not  made  on  the  spur  of  the  mo 
ment,  but  was  the  culmination  of  a  thought  which  had 
possessed  her  ever  since  the  first  shock  of  Lora's  death  had 
spent  itself — who  was  to  look  after  those  poor  children  ? 
Who  better  than  she  ?  What  more  useful  work  could  she 
turn  her  comparatively  idle  hands  to  than  this  labor  of  love  ? 
Was  it  not  the  most  suitable  of  all  employments  for  an  old 
maid — or  rather,  to  save  her  from  the  rigidities  which  be 
set  old  maids,  especially  in  Boston  ?  And  it  was  fortunate 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  405 

that  she  was  no  younger — for  had  she  been  a  girl  of 
twenty,  the  conventional  might  have  demurred  at  her  resi 
dence  under  the  roof  of  her  step-brother-in-law.  As  it  was, 
this  would  be  the  most  natural  of  arrangements.  Her  other 
interests  were  insignificant  in  comparison  with  the  privilege 
of  guarding  and  helping  to  guide  these  motherless  children. 
Who  else  would  fill  the  place  if  she  did  not  ?  She  could 
almost  hear  Lora's  voice  appealing  to  her  from  the  grave. 

Mrs.  Avery  gave  a  joyous  gasp.  "  Of  course,  there's  no 
hurry  if  you're  willing.  I  had  taken  for  granted  you  were 
anxious  to  get  back  to  your  studies,  clubs  and  charities. 
But  if  you're  ready,  Priscilla  dear,  to  stay  until  the  proper 
person  is  found,  why,  that's  the  ideal  arrangement,  isn't 
it,  Hugh?" 

Despite  all  the  evidences  of  his  sister-in-law's  sympathy, 
this  possibility  had  never  occurred  to  Blaisdell.  Not  that 
it  was  too  much  to  ask;  on  the  contrary,  now  that  it  was 
suggested,  he  wondered  that  they  all  had  not  hit  on  this  at 
once  as  the  obvious,  natural  thing.  As  he  felt  the  glow  of 
satisfaction  which  this  sane  solution  of  many  difficulties 
brought  with  it,  he  asked  himself  eagerly  why  there  should 
be  any  limit  to  her  stay. 

"The  proper  person?  No  one  else  can  ever  be  the 
proper  person  in  comparison  with  Priscilla.  She  is  the 
natural  protector  of  Lora's  children — if  she  will  consent  to 
remain;  the  one  our  dear  Lora  would  have  chosen — for 
Mrs.  Avery's  place  is  beside  her  husband.  Why  should 
there  be  talk  of  any  other  person,  if  Priscilla  is  ready  for 
their  sake  to  make  this  house  her  home?  I  ask  you, 
Priscilla,  to  remain  indefinitely." 

"  Indefinitely  ?  Permanently  ?  I  hadn't  thought  of  that. 
It's  better  still;  but  isn't  it  asking  too  much  of  dear  Pris 
cilla?"  Mrs.  Avery,  visibly  startled  by  the  sweeping  char- 


406  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

acter  of  the  invitation,  could  not  refrain  from  wavering 
comment.    "It's  for  her  to  say,  though." 

Priscilla  did  not  ponder  her  reply.  She  had  long  ago 
weighed  the  pros  and  cons.  "As  you  intimate,  Hugh,  my 
place  for  the  present  seems  to  be  here.  My  father  has  his 
wife — and  your — Lora's  children  need  some  feminine  sub 
stitute  for  a  mother's  tenderness  when  you  are  not  at  home, 
We  won't  talk  now  of  dates — or  details;  but  if  you  like, 
you  may  consider  my  stay  permanent — until — er — I  change 
my  mind  or  you  do.  As  to  my  avocations — they  will  not  be 
altogether  interrupted.  Or,  if  they  are,  what  will  it  really 
matter?  Boston's  crop  of  spinsters  could  be  decimated 
without  interrupting  the  progress  of  philanthropy  or 
philosophy." 

"  It's  settled,  then.  It's  too  good  to  be  true."  Such  was 
the  final  fruit  of  Mrs.  Avery's  perturbation,  and  thereupon 
her  feelings  found  further  relief  in  tears. 

Blaisdell  rose  from  his  seat  and  approaching  his  sister- 
in-law,  put  out  both  his  hands— as  she  had  done  to  him  in 
the  hour  of  his  anguish.  "  It's  generous  of  you — and  nat 
ural,  too.  You  have  my  everlasting  gratitude.  While  you 
are  in  this  house,  consider  your  slightest  wish  to  be  the 
law." 

"Thank  you,  Hugh.  I  trust  we  shall  always  agree  as 
to  what  is  best  for  Lora's  children;  but,  if  we  don't — of 
course,  your  wish  must  be  the  law." 

He  looked  her  in  the  eyes  as  if  he  would  fain  challenge 
her  insinuation.  Had  not  her  will  until  within  the  last  six 
months  always  been  dominated  by  his  ?  "  We  have  gener 
ally  agreed  in  the  past  about  everything,"  he  said. 

"  Have  we  ?    I  hope  we  have.    I  am  not  sure." 

"There  have  been  trifles—"  She  raised  one  of  her 
hands,  which  he  held,  to  check  him.  "Yes,  trifles,"  she 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  40? 

interrupted.  "We  needn't  discuss  them.  But  no  two 
people  can  expect  to  agree  about  everything.  You  may  be 
sure,  Hugh,  that  I  will  do  my  best  for  Lora's  children." 

Trifles.  But  were  they  trifles  ?  Priscilla  asked  herself 
the  question  after  she  had  gone  to  her  room  that  evening, 
as,  looking  out  from  her  window  over  the  tree  tops  of 
the  Commonwealth  Avenue  park  at  the  bright  heavens, 
she  composed  herself  to  reflect  on  the  new  turn  in  her 
affairs.  It  was  a  beautiful  night.  Rain  in  the  forenoon 
had  terminated  in  a  dense  fall  of  snow.  This  had  ceased 
just  before  sunset  and  had  been  followed  by  a  sharp  fall 
in  temperature  which  had  frozen  the  laden  boughs  so 
that  the  white  landscape  glittered  like  an  arctic  fairy-land 
and  every  twig  was  a  spear  of  ice,  while  overhead  the  full 
moon  rode  high,  playing  hide  and  seek  among  the  rem 
nants  of  the  clouds  which  a  vehement  northwest  wind  was 
banishing.  For,  in  the  course  of  twelve  consecutive  hours 
in  Boston  it  may  thaw,  rain,  snow,  blow  and  freeze  again. 

She  had  scarcely  given  a  thought  to  her  own  past  since 
the  sudden  tragedy  of  her  sister's  death  had  made  every 
thing  else  appear  unimportant  and  she  had  hastened  to  her 
brother-in-law's  side,  seeking  to  share  his  burden  of  sor 
row.  Their  minor  differences  had  seemed  to  vanish  as  if 
they  never  had  existed,  and  even  in  the  harrowing  days 
which  followed  she  had  been  subconsciously  thankful 
that  they  met  once  more  on  the  old  terms  of  concord. 
Yet  now  that  the  pressing  question  of  her  immediate 
future  was  settled,  and  she  was  free  once  more  to  think 
of  the  living  rather  than  the  dead,  her  mind  reverted 
to  the  evening  of  the  debate  before  the  trustees  of  the  li 
brary  and  to  her  own  enthusiasm  on  that  occasion.  The 
Bacchante!  Should  the  fountain  be  banished  or  remain? 
Although  no  decision  had  yet  been  rendered  on  the  merits 


408  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

of  that  burning  question,  somehow  the  controversy  seemed 
to  have  dwindled  into  secondary  importance  and  become 
dwarfed  beside  the  greater  issues  of  life,  for  one  of  which 
she,  in  common  with  all  which  believed  itself  to  be  Boston, 
had  momentarily  mistaken  it.  Had  the  agitated  sensi 
bilities  of  the  rest  simmered  down? — she  wondered;  or 
was  the  dark  shadow  of  her  sorrow  responsible  for  her 
own  present  indifference  ? 

Yet  how  roused— how  tense  with  excitement  she  had 
been!  And  how  angry  with  Hugh  when,  rising  to  reply, 
he  had  wilfully  misconstrued  Henry  Sumner's  opposition. 
She  had  never  in  her  life  been  so  indignant  with  her 
brother-in-law — never  felt  so  completely  at  odds  with 
him.  A  trifle  ?  Even  now,  as  she  dwelt  on  the  scene,  the 
blood  gathered  to  her  cheeks  and  her  pulses  quickened. 
Why  had  he  said  this?  He  knew  that  it  was  false;  had 
appeared  to  introduce  it  solely  to  irritate  Henry  and  con 
fuse  the  issue.  She  had  herself  felt  at  the  moment  a  fierce 
desire  to  spring  to  her  feet  and  contradict  him.  How 
proud  she  had  been  that  Henry  had  lost  his  temper!  No 
one  but  a  saint  or  a  sage  would  have  failed  to  do  so — even 
though  he  played  into  his  opponent's  hands.  Now,  the 
entire  incident  seemed  very  far  away;  and  yet  an  explana 
tion  was  still  lacking.  Presently,  when  Hugh  had  in  some 
manner  recovered  his  spirits,  she  would  call  him  to  account 
for  this,  and  ascertain  what  excuse  he  had  to  offer,  if  any. 

What  a  strenuous  meeting  it  had  been  from  first  to  last ! 
Henry's  opening  argument  had  been  delivered  with  a  lucid 
energy  which  had  surprised  her.  She  had  never  before 
heard  him  speak  in  public.  His  voice  was  a  little  harsh 
and  nasal;  he  displayed  not  much  variety  or  humor,  but 
she  realized  that  his  strength  was  the  conviction  which  he 
produced  of  believing  every  word  he  uttered — that  his  en- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  409 

thusiasm  was  not  of  the  lips  but  of  the  soul.  No  wonder 
that  the  applause  when  he  sat  down  was  overwhelming; 
he  had  omitted  nothing;  he  had  stated  their  case  with  a 
thoroughness  and  force  which,  because  of  his  righteously 
indignant  faith,  became  magnetic.  And  Chauncey  Chip 
pendale  had  answered  him.  With  lightness,  gaiety,  appo 
site  sardonic  sallies,  and  a  final  plea  based  on  reason  and 
liberality,  as  he  had  called  it.  "New  York  will  welcome 
the  Bacchante  with  open  arms  if  we  reject  her,  and  Boston 
will  become  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  the  nation.  Such  ar 
tistic  squeamishness  is  enough  to  make  the  sacred  codfish 
at  the  State  House  laugh." 

And  this  had  not  been  the  end.  Priscilla,  as  she  watched 
the  flying  clouds  overhead,  recalled  the  aftermath — the 
breaking  up  of  the  meeting;  how,  when  it  dissolved,  many 
voices  continued  to  agitate  the  question  in  little  groups  all 
over  the  hall.  How  Miss  Georgiana  Chippendale,  in  high 
dudgeon  against  her  nephew  for  his  part  in  the  proceedings 
and  remarking  explosively  for  the  benefit  of  those  she  met: 
"Sacred  codfish!  That  boy  hasn't  the  least  conception  of 
what  we  stand  for.  He  makes  fun  of  everything  " — worked 
her  way  gradually  to  where  he  was  standing  in  order  to 
exclaim:  "I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Chauncey.  You  are 
deficient  in  moral  stamina." 

Priscilla  remembered,  too,  her  own  brief  passage  at 
arms  with  Miss  Winston  who  had  stopped  to  state  with 
unwonted  asperity:  "I  passed  an  hour  yesterday  in  care 
ful  inspection  of  the  Bacchante  for  the  fifth  time  and  I 
consider  the  position  of  those  who  condemn  this  joyous 
creature  as  meretricious  to  be  absurd — simply  absurd." 
On  the  spur  of  the  moment  her  retort  had  been:  " None  are 
so  blind  as  those  who  will  not  see,"  a  ferocity  at  which  she 
subsequently  blushed.  But,  like  every  one  else  at  the  time, 


410  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

her  emotions  were  at  fever  heat.  Miss  Winston's  nose  had 
trembled  so  that  her  eye-glasses  fell  to  the  ground,  and 
they  had  bumped  their  heads  in  a  mutual  endeavor  to 
pick  them  up.  Indeed,  the  only  person  who  appeared  to 
be  reasonably  cool  was  Morgan  Drake.  He  had  joined  her 
in  the  corridor  as  they  passed  out,  and  whispered:  "A 
social  historian,  if  he  had  lived  to  be  a  hundred,  would 
never  have  a  better  chance  to  see  Boston  worked  up  to  a 
fury  over  nothing";  which,  not  being  to  her  liking,  she 
had  instantly  replied:  "On  the  contrary,  Mr.  Drake,  a 
moral  principle  is  at  stake;  and  anything  is  preferable  to 
remaining  on  the  fence."  Decidedly — as  she  reviewed 
them  now — her  recorded  remarks  had  been  tart  if  not 
peppery.  Thereupon  Mr.  Drake — and  this  was  her  reason 
for  exonerating  him  from  the  prevailing  state  of  tension- 
had  ignored  her  crushing  speech  and  said:  "I  know. 
Whichever  way  it's  decided,  there  are  a  few  people  on 
either  side  who  will  carry  a  bitter  remembrance  of  this  pro 
digious  controversy  to  their  graves."  Thereupon  he  had 
recited — she  had  looked  them  up  afterward  and  found 
them  to  be  Coleridge's — these  lines  to  which,  in  spite  of 
her  impetuous  mood,  she  had  deigned  to  listen  attentively: 

"They  stood  aloof,  the  scars  remaining, 
Like  cliffs  which  had  been  rent  asunder. 
A  gloomy  sea  now  flows  between. 
But  neither  heat  nor  frost  nor  thunder 
Shall  wholly  do  away  I  ween 
The  marks  of  that  which  once  hath  been." 

How  all  these  Bostonians  of  a  certain  class  could  quote! 
Was  she  one  of  those  whom  Morgan  meant?  Assuredly 
not;  for  she  had  cooled  off;  was  almost  ready  to  apologize 
to  Miss  Winston.  Priscilla  smiled,  then  sighed,  and  she 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  411 

put  her  hands  to  her  cheeks  aware  that  they  were  glowing 
with  the  awakened  memories  of  the  prodigious  contro 
versy.  She  pulled  down  the  shade  and  walked  away  from 
the  window.  What  a  tangle  of  inconsistencies  life  was 
proving  to  be!  A  genuine  Boston  girl!  She  was  just  like 
the  rest  of  them  it  appeared.  A  modified  specimen  with 
modern  redeeming  points,  but  with  the  same  unmistakable 
substratum.  And  an  old  maid  into  the  bargain;  a  well- 
preserved,  but  well-defined  old  maid. 

Priscilla  smiled  again  and  glanced  around  her  at  the 
handsomely  furnished  spacious  chamber — "the  best  spare 
room,"  as  Lora  used  to  call  it — bright  with  gay  chintz  and 
the  latest  elegancies  which  make  for  comfort  and  cheeri- 
ness;  a  little  too  elaborate,  perhaps,  like  the  rest  of  the 
house;  but  a  few  touches  would  render  it  homelike.  How 
much  better  off  she  was  than  most  old  maids  with  these 
dear  children  to  watch  over.  She  had  health,  an 
abundance  of  money,  and,  better  still,  friends.  Men 
friends,  too.  What  woman  of  her  age  could  boast  of  two 
more  devoted,  interesting  friends  than  her  brother-in-law 
and  Henry  Sumner?  Decidedly  she  was  to  be  envied. 
How  unlike  they  were,  yet  how  individual!  What  a  pity 
that  they  were  not  congenial!  She  promised  herself  that 
when  this  unfortunate  episode  of  the  Bacchante  was  finally 
settled,  she  would  make  another  determined  effort  to  over 
come  their  prejudice  against  each  other.  For  necessarily, 
now  that  her  home  was  with  Hugh,  Henry  would  be  con 
stantly  encountering  him  when  he  came  to  call.  The 
friendship  of  both  of  them  was  very  precious  to  her;  and, 
assuming  that  Henry  had  made  up  his  mind  to  take  no  for 
an  answer  and  let  well  enough  alone,  she  was  willing  to 
admit  that  she  was  not  perfectly  sure  which  of  the  two,  on 
the  whole,  she  liked  best.  "There  I  go,"  she  said  to  her- 


412  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

self,  "  analyzing  my  emotions  just  as  I  have  always  vowed 
that  I  never  would  do." 

Upon  this  Priscilla  hastened  to  get  into  bed  and  put  out 
the  light  by  way  of  dismissing  the  intruder.  As  she  com 
posed  herself  to  sleep  she  was  conscious  of  feeling  what  she 
termed — settled.  Poor  Hugh  needed  all  the  companionship 
and  consolation  she  could  spare  him,  and  as  for  the  other 
— if  he  would  only  continue  sensible,  they  might  have  many 
delightful  interests  in  common. 

Two  days  subsequent  to  this  Priscilla  was  summoned 
from  her  luncheon  with  the  children  by  a  telephone  call. 

"Is  this  Miss  Avery?"  She  recognized  Henry's  voice 
at  the  other  end  of  the  wire.  "I've  some  news  for  you. 
The  trustees  have  decided  in  our  favor.  The  Bacchante 
is  to  be  removed;  the  donor  has  been  requested  to  with 
draw  his  gift.  Isn't  it  glorious?" 

The  transport  in  his  tone  was  contagious;  she  felt  the 
thrill  of  victory.  After  all,  she  was  less  indifferent  than  she 
had  supposed. 

"I  congratulate  you." 

"It  was  more  than  half  your  doing,  for  you  made  con 
verts  by  the  score  and  formed  public  opinion  when  it  was 
wavering." 

"Nonsense.  It  was  your  resolute  speech  which  con 
vinced  the  trustees  that  we  were  in  the  right.  What  will 
the  other  side  say?" 

"I've  just  come  from  the  Sphinx  Club  where  Oliver 
Spinney  accosted  me  with,  'I  hope  you're  gratified,  Henry 
Sumner,  at  having  organized  the  damnable  conspiracy 
which  is  going  to  retard  Boston's  artistic  growth  for 
twenty-five  years.' " 

"How  absurd!"  Was  Morgan  Drake's  prophecy  about 
to  become  true,  she  wondered.  "I  can't  escape  respon- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  413 

sibility  as  a  co-conspirator — and  we've  won.  I  do  hope, 
however,  that  Boston  as  a  whole  will  simmer  down — until 
the  next  great  agitation." 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  then  resumed :  "  I  suspect  from 
your  tone  that  you  think  we  were  a  little — er — hysterical, 
now  that  you  have  had  time  to  simmer  down.  The  precise 
issue  was  a  small  one,  but  we  have  a  right  to  remember 
that  a  vital  principle  was  at  stake." 

"We  comforted  ourselves  with  that  all  through  the  cam 
paign,"  she  answered  with  a  laugh.  "I  cling  to  it  still, 
fellow-conspirator. ' ' 

"I'm  sure  you  do.  And  what  I  would  really  like  to  say 
is  that  but  for  the  inspiration  I  received  from  you— 

"Good-by."  Priscilla  cut  him  off  abruptly  and  hung 
up  the  receiver.  To  her  practised  ear  his  voice  sounded 
decidedly  ominous.  It  would  be  too  bad,  she  reflected,  if, 
now  that  she  felt  comfortably  settled,  he  should  take  it  into 
his  head  to  become  troublesome  again. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"ALLOW  me  to  congratulate  you  on  the  good  looks  of 
your  stenographer,"  said  Chauncey  Chippendale  to  his 
Cousin  Henry.  "She's  a  peach." 

"You  mean  Miss  Brackett?" 

"I  haven't  the  remotest  idea  what  her  name  is,  my  dear 
fellow,  but  you  know  perfectly  well  the  one  I  mean.  The 
other  is  homely  as  a  rail  fence.  Such  coyness  on  your  part 
merits  investigation."  Thereupon,  observing  the  sem 
blance  of  embarrassment  which  his  words  produced, 
Chauncey  bent  a  rallying  glance  on  his  cousin. 

Henry  had  recently  moved  into  more  spacious  offices. 


414  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

His  practice  was  growing.  Certain  notable  victories  in  the 
line  of  what  might  be  called  legal  forlorn  hopes  had  drawn 
attention  to  him.  He  had  attacked  with  success  a  railroad 
lease  deemed  to  be  invulnerable,  and  won  a  suit  involving 
an  easement  of  light  and  air,  the  decision  in  which  had  re 
quired  the  demolition  of  the  upper  stories  of  a  towering 
office  building.  As  counsel  for  certain  minority  stock 
holders,  he  was  engaged  at  present  in  endeavoring  to  in 
validate  the  sale  of  a  certain  electric  light  company,  and  it 
was  in  regard  to  this  last  matter  that  Chauncey  had  dropped 
in — the  first  time  he  had  done  him  the  honor  of  a  visit 
since  Henry  had  been  called  to  the  bar. 

"She's  a  nice  girl,"  said  Henry.  "She's  been  with  me 
now  over  a  year.  Since  I  moved  in  here  she  has  done  work 
occasionally  for  Uncle  Baxter,  whom  I  succeeded  in  con 
vincing  one  day  that  shorthand  and  the  type- writer  are 
not  absolutely  fatal  to  accuracy." 

Their  Uncle  Baxter  Chippendale  occupied  a  room  at 
the  opposite  end  of  the  same  corridor  in  which  Henry's 
offices  were  located.  He  had  literally  been  driven  out  like 
a  rat  by  the  pulling  down  of  the  old-fashioned  structure 
where  he  had  pored  over  his  ledger  and  cut  off  coupons  for 
half  a  century.  "If  I  had  known  what  they  were  up  to,  I 
would  have  bought  the  building  and  prevented  it  during 
my  lifetime,"  had  been  the  old  gentleman's  frequent  decla 
ration  while  the  process  of  destruction  was  going  on,  but 
he  grumblingly  admitted  that  his  new  quarters,  which  were 
approximately  in  the  same  spot,  were  nearly  as  comfortable 
as  the  old. 

The  reference  to  his  uncle  caused  Chauncey  to  forget 
his  interest  in  Miss  Brackett.  "I  suppose  you've  made 
his  will  by  this  time.  Taking  offices  in  the  same  entry 
savors  of  undue  influence." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  415 

Henry  shook  his  head.  "He  got  me  to  draw  a  deed 
once  when  his  regular  lawyer — whose  name  I  don't  know 
— was  out  of  town,  for  which  I  charged  him  two  dollars. 
That's  the  limit  to  my  knowledge  of  his  private  affairs." 

"You  always  were  over-conscientious,  Henry.  Uncle 
Baxter  must  be  a  very  rich  man;  he's  one  of  the  kind  who 
hives  and  never  spends.  Gilt-edged  things  every  time;  or, 
if  by  chance  he  gets  a  bad  egg,  he  sits  on  it  until  it  hatches, 
as  it  always  does  in  the  end.  Take  Warrior  Mills,  which 
the  rest  of  the  family  sold  against  his  advice;  it  sells  to-day 
at  one  hundred  per  cent,  higher  than  when  my  father 
tipped  his  out.  I've  heard  he  bought  reams  of  Western 
railroad  stocks  when  they  were  on  their  uppers  in  the  dis 
mal  days  of  the  seventies,  and  tucked  them  away  into  his 
safe.  Aunt  Georgiana  has  done  well  with  telephone  and 
Electric  Coke,  but  for  steady  Dec.  3ist  trial  balance  big 
profits,  year  in  year  out,  she  isn't  in  the  same  class  with 
Uncle  Baxter.  Some  of  her  favorites  have  turned  out  the 
veriest  wildcats.  Well,  treat  the  rest  of  the  family  fairly  if 
he  consults  you  as  to  the  disposition  of  his  money." 

Chauncey  was  now  virtually  the  head  of  Langdon  & 
Company.  The  retirement  of  General  Horatio  Langdon 
from  the  firm  of  which  for  a  generation  he  had  been  the 
controlling  spirit  was  the  most  important  change  on  State 
Street  which  the  first  of  January  following  the  agitation 
over  the  Bacchante  disclosed.  Of  the  five  men  whose 
names  were  appended  to  the  new  articles  of  partnership 
published  in  the  newspapers  of  that  day  two  were  the 
seniors  of  his  son-in-law  both  in  age  and  experience;  but 
every  one  in  touch  with  affairs  down-town  had  surmised 
that  this  genial  but  ambitious  young  man  would,  like  the 
Turk,  brook  no  rival  near  the  throne.  These  elders  were 
good  office  men — so  Chauncey  had  intimated  privatell  N> 


416  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

those  who  shared  his  confidence,  which  was  taken  to  sig 
nify  that  he  and  the  two  juniors— both  pupils  of  his  own, 
and  one  of  them  like  himself,  a  former  foot-ball  player- 
would  direct  the  policy  of  the  new  firm,  which  was  to  be 
enterprising.  Not  that  Langdon  &  Company  had  ever 
been  lacking  in  enterprise.  On  the  contrary,  Chauncey 
had  always  heard  that  the  General  as  a  young  man  had 
been  noted  for  his  capacity  to  lead  and  for  his  foresight. 
The  old  war  horse  had  built  up  the  business— at  first, 
strictly  an  old-fashioned  commission  business;  but  he  had 
kept  up  with  the  times  and  had  learned  the  art  of  under 
writing  bond  flotations  at — say — 92  and  disposing  of  them 
to  his  customers  at  from  99  to  101 — a  very  neat,  clean 
transaction.  In  case  the  bonds  hung  fire  the  banks  would 
carry  them;  but  during  his  administration  they  rarely  if 
ever,  did  hang  fire,  but  had  gone  like  hot  cakes— been 
over-subscribed  for. 

But  an  elderly  man  is  not  like  a  young  one.  He  falls  into 
ruts  without  realizing  it;  his  perceptions  grow  near-sighted 
so  that  he  distrusts  everything  which  is  not  close  to  his  nose 
—so  Chauncey  generalized.  Chauncey,  moreover,  plumed 
himself  on  having  helped  to  keep  his  father-in-law  out  of 
the  ruts,  as  a  consequence  of  which  the  firm  had  not  merely 
held  its  own  on  the  Street,  but  prospered;  nevertheless,  he 
felt  that  certain  opportunities  had  been  neglected,  only  to 
be  availed  of  by  their  competitors,  for  the  sole  reason  that 
General  Langdon  was  less  quick  than  formerly  to  perceive 
the  drift  of  commercial  transactions,  and  more  prone  to 
be  appalled  by  their  magnitude.  Chauncey's  programme 
was  to  enlarge  the  underwriting  branch  of  the  business.  As 
the  country  grew,  the  number  of  new  enterprises  increased, 
and  the  directors  of  old  ones  were  compelled  sooner  or 
later  to  enlarge  their  facilities— all  of  which  meant  bor- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  417 

rowing  money.  He  would  welcome — pursue  a  liberal 
attitude  toward  the  numerous  railroad,  industrial  and 
electric  light  and  water  power  companies  in  the  market  for 
funds;  scrutinize  their  securities  carefully,  but  refuse  to  be 
deterred  from  negotiating  them  merely  because  the  enter 
prises  were  new  or  in  the  far  west  or  the  south.  Langdon 
&  Company  would  continue  to  be  conservative  and  at  the 
same  time  let  their  customers  in  now  and  then  for  a  good 
thing — something  really  worth  while.  In  the  case  of  most 
of  these  remote  public  service  corporations  the  right  of 
subscribing  for  the  underlying  bonds  brought  with  it  a 
bonus  of  common  stock ;  and  these  shares  thus  given  away 
often  proved  so  valuable  as  to  wipe  out  the  original  cost  of 
the  investment  and  leave  the  firm  and  its  customers  hand 
somely  on  velvet. 

A  year  had  passed  since  Chauncey  had  found  himself  in 
a  position  where  he  could  thus  enlarge  the  firm's  outlook 
without  encountering  frequent  reluctance — which  at  times 
became  a  positive  refusal — on  the  part  of  his  father-in-law 
to  participate  in  this  or  that  syndicate  If  figures  and  an 
enlarged  circle  of  customers  were  a  test,  the  broader  policy 
of  the  new  leader  had  been  vindicated.  Chauncey  was  cer 
tainly  himself  on  the  surface  the  embodiment  of  prosperity. 
Time  in  conjunction  with  good  living  had  enlarged  slightly 
both  his  cheeks  and  his  waistband ;  but  the  tendency  to  cor 
pulence  was  not  unbecoming;  it  emphasized  his  amiability 
and  deepened  the  humorous  lines  around  his  mouth  without 
detracting  from  the  nicety  of  his  personal  appearance.  He 
was  debonair  as  ever,  and,  though  he  lived  up  to  the  latest 
fashion,  was  still  a  walking  rebuke  both  to  slovenliness  and 
ostentation.  It  seemed  the  obvious  thing  to  Henry  to  retort : 

"I  don't  see  what  use  you  can  have  for  any  more  money, 
Chauncey." 


418  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

Chauncey's  brow  contracted  slightly.  "Don't  worry 
about  that,  dear  boy,"  he  said.  "I  could  find  use  for  an 
extra  million  any  minute." 

"But  you  must  have  done  exceedingly  well.  Take 
Electric  Coke  alone.  Report  credits  you  with  owning  a  lot 
of  it."  There  was  no  envy  in  Henry's  tone.  He  appeared 
interested  solely  in  demonstrating  that  his  cousin  was  in 
disputably  prosperous. 

"It  sold  at  $1,000  a  share  this  morning."  Chauncey  did 
not  conceal  his  satisfaction,  yet  he  sighed  and  added:  "The 
stock  will  sell  at  double  the  figure  some  day,  if  I  obtain  the 
control.  At  the  same  time,  every  share  locks  up  a  lot  of 
money — and  you  fellows  who  aren't  married  haven't  the 
smallest  conception  of  how  much  it  costs  nowadays  to  live." 

"Very  likely  not.  But  I  should  be  able  to  worry  along, 
it  seems  to  me,  on  about  a  fifth  of  your  income — as  I  sup 
pose  it  to  be — and  fancy  myself  abnormally  rich  from  my 
point  of  view." 

"Your  point  of  view  doesn't  include — all  sorts  of  things." 
Chauncey  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  enter  into  details, 
so  obvious  were  the  number  and  variety  of  them.  "And 
it  doesn't  include  also  having  a  finger  in  every  financial  pie 
—being  down  for  a  hundred  thousand  slice  of  this,  a  fifty 
thousand  slice  of  that,  a  hundred  thousand  slice  of  the  other 
—which,  of  course,  argues  excellent  credit.  But  a  good- 
sized  inheritance  of  ready  cash  would  establish  me  on  easy 
street,  and  I  don't  mind  saying  this  is  the  only  really  envi 
able  residence  for  a  citizen  of  my  multifarious  tastes  and 
generally  ubiquitous  desire  to  keep  up  with  everything 
that's  going.  Which  reminds  me  of  what  I  wished  to  ask 
you:  When  everything  is  running  smoothly  and  everybody 
appears  to  be  happy,  why  disturb  the  universal  harmony 
by  inserting  a  cog  in  the  wheel  of  progress?  You  always 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  419 

were  a  devil  of  a  fellow  for  that,  Henry.  Why  not  occa 
sionally  instead  put  a  penny  in  the  slot  and  help  things 
along?  Those  fellows  in  Saxonville  Electric  would  have 
quieted  down  if  you  hadn't  egged  them  on." 

"They  came  to  me  for  advice." 

"And  you  picked  a  technical  flaw  in  the  sale." 

"They  said  the  property  was  being  sacrificed — sold  for 
much  less  than  its  value,  and  that  the  directors  of  the  two 
boards  were  identical." 

"Why  not  prove  the  value,  then,  instead  of  harking 
back  to  Noah's  Ark  and  raking  up  an  infernal  defect  in 
the  articles  of  incorporation,  which  both  sides  supposed  to 
be  perfectly  sound  ?  As  a  consequence,  the  stock  has  fallen 
fifty  per  cent,  in  the  last  fortnight,  and  of  course,  the  banks 
have  to  be  protected.  Yet  you  have  the  hardihood  to  in 
quire  what  I  could  do  with  any  more  money.  I  bought 
a  hundred  thousand  for  a  quick  turn  and  now,  I  suppose, 
I'm  liable  to  stay  with  it  for  the  next  ten  years.  What  I 
really  wish  to  know  is  whether  you've  a  good  case  or  are 
simply  bluffing.  I  won't  give  it  away.  It  would  be  a  cous 
inly  act  to  let  me  know." 

Henry's  impulse  to  resent  this  cool  inquiry  was  mollified 
by  the  appeal  to  kinship.  He  could  detect  behind  Chaun- 
cey's  nonchalance  symptoms  of  solicitude.  "I'm  not 
bluffing;  that's  not  my  style.  The  legal  point  is  a  genuine 
one,  but  is  doubtful;  no  one  can  feel  sure  until  we  get  a 
decision;  and  my  clients  declare  that  they  will  go  to  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  if  necessary  to  test  it." 

"  Which  means  a  lifetime — financially  speaking.  There's 
one  more  nail  in  the  coffin  of  capitalistic  enterprise.  I'm 
beginning  to  agree  with  my  father  that  this  country  is  going 
to  the  devil.  A  man  no  sooner  gets  a  fairly  good  thing  but 
some  one  else  conspires  to  get  it  away  from  him."  Chaun- 


420  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

cey  drew  himself  up.  Different  as  his  figure  was  from  that 
of  his  father — for  he  resembled  the  Floyds — he  reminded 
Henry  of  Mr.  Harrison  Chippendale  by  his  air  of  wounded 
and  despondent  dignity.  "Those  fellows  were  simply  dis 
gruntled.  Full  value  is  being  paid  for  the  property  to  my 
personal  knowledge,  and  the  effort  to  obtain  more  by  delay 
is— nothing  but  a  species  of  blackmail.  On  their  part  of 
course,  not  yours,"  he  hastened  to  add,  for  he  noticed  a  ris 
ing  gleam  of  resentment  in  Henry's  eyes.  "It's  your  bread 
and  butter;  I  recognize  that.  But  isn't  one  of  the  logical 
consequences  of  being  a  constitutional  obstructionist  that 
one  is  continually  helping  to  pull  down  instead  of  build  up  ?" 

Henry  had  long  ago  schooled  himself  not  to  allow 
Chauncey's  invariably  patronizing  attitude  to  annoy  him. 
Despite  the  concluding  saw,  it  was  plain  that  his  cousin 
had  taken  pains  to  exonerate  him  from  complicity  in  the 
more  serious  charge.  "You  see,"  he  replied  with  a  twinkle, 
"  my  clients  are  just  as  positive  on  their  side  that  they  have 
been — er — imposed  on.  They  used  a  stronger  word  just 
as  you  did.  So,  if  their  position  is  sound,  it  behooves  me, 
doesn't  it,  to  do  my  best  to  pull  down,  as  you  call  it,  in  this 
particular  instance?  And  carrying  that  argument  to  its 
logical  conclusion  is  not  helping  to  pull  down  in  a  right 
eous  cause  really  helping  to  build  up?" 

Chauncey  stared  a  moment  with  growing  amusement, 
then  rose.  "  I  give  it  up,  my  dear  fellow.  You're  the  same 
old  sixpence,  aren't  you?"  He  glanced  around  him  to 
take  in  the  details  of  the  unostentatious  but  comfortable 
quarters;  at  the  high  shelves  lined  with  law  reports  and 
the  walls  relieved  here  and  there  by  an  etching  of  some 
old  legal  luminary — a  lord  chancellor  or  some  national 
master  of  jurisprudence.  "You  seem  pretty  well  fixed 
here,"  he  continued  in  the  tone  of  one  rather  surprised  to 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  421 

behold  surroundings  so  little  open  to  stricture.  He  had 
expected  to  find  them  cramped,  or  at  least  fusty,  despite 
Henry's  recent  iconoclastic  successes.  "You  ought  to  be 
getting  married." 

"After  hearing  from  you  how  much  it  costs  to  live?" 

Chauncey  nodded  in  appreciation  of  the  pertinency  of 
the  retort.  "I'll  confide  to  you,"  he  said,  "that  a  man  in 
my  position  doesn't  need  a  lot  of  the  things  he  has.  It's 
getting  used  to  having  things  which  counts;  if  you  once 
have  them,  you  can't  get  rid  of  them,  and  other  people  will 
expect  you  to  have  them.  I  belong  to— sixteen  clubs,  for 
instance;  I  was  counting  up  the  other  day.  Half  of  them 
I  never  enter.  How  often  do  I  use  my  steam  yacht  ?  About 
a  dozen  times  in  the  season.  What  use  have  I  for  two- 
thirds  of  the  horses  in  my  stable  ?  There  you  are.  And  in 
return  for  that  confidence,"  he  continued,  pausing  to  light 
a  cigarette  which  afforded  him  a  moment  to  choose  his 
words,  "I  would  like  to  know — if  you  are  at  liberty  to 
say — who  is  behind  your  crowd  in  Saxonville  Electric?" 

"Behind  them?" 

"Footing  the  bills.  There's  a  rumor  on  the  Street  that 
Hugh  McD.  Blaisdell  is  putting  up  the  requisite  dough." 

The  suggestion  seemed  so  absurdly  incongruous  from 
Henry's  standpoint  that  he  answered  placidly:  "He  hasn't 
paid  me  anything,  if  you  mean  that.  My  retainer  was  sent 
me  by  the  client  who  consulted  me.  Besides,  I'm  about 
the  last  person  in  the  world  whom  Mr.  Blaisdell  would 
select  as  a  legal  adviser." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember,  you  were  at  loggerheads  over  the 
Bacchante.  But  that  idiotic  row  quieted  down  long  ago. 
Indeed,  he  would  employ  you  quick  as  a  shot  if  he 
thought  you  knew  the  combination  which  would  open 
the  safe." 


422  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"  One  would  think  he  were  a  burglar  from  your  metaphor, 
Chauncey."  Since  his  cousin  appeared  unaware  of  the 
chasm  of  distrust  which  yawned  between  him  and  Blaisdell, 
why  refer  to  it  ? 

Chauncey  rocked  himself  on  his  toes  contemplatively. 
"He  is  a  burglar  in  the  sense  that  he'd  be  extremely  glad 
to  see  the  contents  of  my  tin  box  transferred  to  his.  We're 
very  chummy  when  we  meet — we're  interested  in  lots  of 
the  same  things;  but  all  the  same,  I've  a  sneaking  feeling 
that  Blaisdell  would  be  tickled  to  death  if  he  heard  I  was 
down  and  out;  burst  wide  open  financially.  That's  the 
way  he's  constituted.  It's  dog  eat  dog  in  the  lexicon 
which  he  has  studied  ever  since  he  began  raking  in  the 
stuff,  and  he  intends,  if  he  can,  to  remain  the  biggest  dog. 
Natural,  if  you  think  of  it.  I'm  not  complaining.  Per 
haps  he  will,  perhaps  he  won't.  I  only  wished  to  inquire 
if  you  know  whether  he  is  nosing  along  this  particular 
trail.  It  seems  you  don't,  Henry,  so  good  day." 

After  this  monologue,  much  of  which  in  Henry's  ears 
savored  of  enigma  to  which  he  did  not  possess  the  key, 
Chauncey  restored  his  straw  hat  to  his  head  and  turned  on 
his  heel;  but  as  his  hand  reached  the  door  knob  he  looked 
around  to  add  quizzically:  "To  most  fellows  I  would  say 
'be  good';  but  to  you,  Henry,  it's  safe  to  say,  'be  bad!'" 

As,  pleased  with  this  witticism,  Chauncey  walked  breez 
ily  through  the  outer  office  his  glance  lingered  again  appre 
ciatively  on  Miss  Brackett  who  was  busy  type-writing — a 
fair  young  woman  of  about  twenty-five  in  a  cool  costume 
of  summer  with  becoming  ribbons.  He  realized  that  she 
was  even  more  comely  than  he  had  supposed.  What  a 
pity,  he  reflected,  that  she  should  be  wasted  on  Henry; 
shut  up  in  a  law  office  when  she  might  adorn  his  own,  for 
she  was  pretty  enough  to  help  to  keep  customers  stable. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  423 

She  seemed  modest,  too;  she  ignored  his  presence  as  he 
passed.  Recalling  Henry's  tell-tale  embarrassment  at  his 
reference  to  her  attractions,  he  wondered  with  amusement 
what  it  might  signify.  Henry  was  no  gay  Lothario, 
judging  from  his  blameless  past.  Would  it  not  be  just 
like  him,  if  he  were  interested  in  the  girl,  to  throw 
practical  considerations  to  the  winds  and  make  her  an 
offer  of  marriage  ?  His  affair  with  Miss  Avery  had  hung 
fire  so  long  that  he  must  have  given  up  hope  even  if  he 
still  hankered  after  the  heiress.  How  would  the  family 
feel  if  it  should  wake  up  some  morning  and  read  in  the 
newspapers  in  large  head-lines,  "Married  to  his  own  sten 
ographer  1  A  scion  of  Boston's  bluest  blood  makes  a  ro 
mantic  match!"  What  would  Uncle  Baxter  and  Aunt 
Georgiana  say?  At  least,  Henry  would  bear  watching; 
there  was  no  telling  what  these  visionary,  aescetic  fel 
lows  would  do  when  it  came  to  a  pinch;  and  all  the 
opposition  in  the  world  would  do  no  good  if  he  once  made 
up  his  mind.  Thus  absolving  himself  from  responsibility 
and  inwardly  entertained  by  the  picturesque  if  dire  possi 
bility — which,  in  a  sense,  would  be  a  logical  outcome  of 
his  cousin's  numerous  vagaries — Chauncey  returned  to  his 
own  haunts,  stopping  first  at  his  bank  to  make  good  the 
deficiencies  in  his  collateral  caused  by  the  shrinkage  in 
Saxonville  Electric. 

Although  Henry's  confusion  had  been  genuine,  Chaun 
cey 's  interpretation  of  it  was  wide  of  the  mark.  Far  from 
entertaining  a  romantic  interest  for  Miss  Brackett — the  re-' 
verse  was  true;  she  was  or  had  been  enamoured  of  him. 
The  growing  consciousness  of  this  had  been  troubling 
Henry  for  the  last  six  months.  Modest  soul  that  he  was, 
he  had  shrunk  from  the  truth  until  to  be  blind  to  it  longer 
was  impossible.  That  a  pretty  young  woman  should  fall 


424  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

in  love  with  him  out  of  a  clear  sky  without  the  slightest 
provocation  on  his  part  struck  him  as  so  extraordinary  that 
he  shut  his  eyes  to  and  refused  to  credit  the  accumulating 
manifestations  of  it.  No  girl  would  be  so  unmaidenly, 
and  he  would  not  be  vain  goat  enough  to  believe  it;  there 
must  be  some  mistake — some  gross  exaggeration  on  the 
part  of  his  own  faculties. 

What  made  the  matter  more  embarrassing  was  that  she 
had  been  recommended  to  him  in  the  first  instance  by 
Priscilla;  she  had  been  one  of  a  family  in  whom  the  latter 
had  become  interested  as  a  social  worker.  Mabel  Brackett 
had  been  trained  at  Priscilla's  expense  to  become  an  accom 
plished  stenographer,  and  at  the  time  when  she  was  fitted 
to  earn  her  own  living  he  had,  at  Priscilla's  request,  given 
her  employment  in  his  office.  Naturally,  he  had  been  kind 
to  her.  The  result  had  been  that  she  had  made  an  idol 
of  him  and  presently  had  begun  to  show  it.  Her  eagerness 
to  do  his  bidding  was  accompanied  by  glances  of  thinly- 
veiled  admiration  which  could  not  be  interpreted  as  mere 
coquetry.  Flowers  appeared  at  intervals  upon  his  desk 
traceable  to  no  other  source;  he  strongly  suspected  her 
of  having  sent  him  a  sentimental  valentine.  He  tried 
coldness  by  way  of  tacit  reproof,  and  her  large  blue 
eyes  had  filled  with  tears;  she  had  construed  it  as  dis 
satisfaction  with  her  work,  and  the  tone  in  which  she 
declared,  "I  would  do  anything  in  the  world  to  please 
you,  Mr.  Sumner,"  plainly  suggested  that  she  wished  him 
to  understand  that  if  he  sent  her  away  she  would  die.  To 
dismiss  her — find  a  place  for  her  somewhere  else  was  the 
obvious  solution;  but  what  explanation  could  he  offer  to 
Priscilla  ?  She  would  be  disappointed  at  the  failure  of  her 
prote'ge'e;  yet  to  endeavor  to  reveal  the  astounding  truth 
could  not  fail  to  expose  him  to  ridicule.  Could  she  be 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  425 

blamed  if  she  secretly  believed  that  he  had  mistaken  co 
quetry  or  zeal  for  sentiment  ?  Difficult  as  it  had  been  to 
convince  himself — his  shame-faced  self — that  Miss  Brack- 
ett's  conduct  could  be  accounted  for  on  any  other  theory, 
he  foresaw  that  Priscilla  would  laugh  in  her  sleeve  at  him 
to  the  end. 

Relief— it  was  literally  this— had  recently  come  from  an 
unexpected  quarter.  Miss  Brackett  had  suddenly  begun 
to  cool  off;  and  of  her  own  accord.  A  change  in  her  man 
ner  became  distinctly  noticeable.  It  was  distant,  and  sug 
gested  a  person  whose  pride  has  been  wounded.  Henry 
realized  that  she  gazed  at  him,  when  she  looked  at  him  at 
all,  coldly  instead  of  admiringly,  as  if  to  let  him  know  she 
understood  that  her  devotion  had  been  spurned.  He  felt 
profoundly  relieved;  at  the  same  time  he  experienced 
unpleasant  emotions,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  must 
have  bungled  the  affair — shown  himself  unduly  severe— 
to  produce  such  a  radical  change.  Would  not  his  Cousin 
Chauncey  in  his  place  have  managed  to  keep  the  girl  at 
arm's  length  and  yet  avoid  lacerating  her  feelings  ? 

Her  resentment — if  it  were  such — had  proceeded  no 
further,  however.  She  had  not  left  his  employ,  and  after 
a  few  weeks  her  half-mournful,  half-frigid  expression  had 
changed  to  a  slightly  haughty  if  studied  indifference  when 
in  his  presence.  But  Henry  gathered  from  what  he  ob 
served  of  her  demeanor  in  the  outer  office  that  she  was 
recovering  her  spirits.  She  showed  signs  of  an  increasing 
interest  in  dress.  Her  appearance,  though  always  neat, 
had  lacked  those  touches  which  girls  who  take  an  interest 
in  personal  adornment  know  how  to  impart  to  their  daily 
toilette.  She  began  to  wear  gayer  ribbons,  more  stylish 
bows  and  minor  trinkets;  her  gowns  emphasized  the  pre 
vailing  fashion;  she  indulged  in  more  starch  and  some 


426  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

perfume.  She  had  evidently  become  much  more  sophis 
ticated.  Could  it  mean  that  she  was  going  to  the  bad  ? 
Guiltless  though  he  felt  himself  to  be,  Henry  recognized 
a  responsibility  to  observe  the  girl  more  closely.  He  failed 
to  detect,  however,  anything  to  suggest  either  evil  company 
or  desperation. 

It  was  useless  now  to  ask  himself  whether  if  he  had 
"jollied"  her  a  little  instead,  she  might  not  have  been 
satisfied  and  have  continued  to  worship  at  a  respectful  dis 
tance  until  she  recovered  from  her  infatuation.  He  had 
succeeded  in  affronting  her,  and  her  chagrin  must  work 
itself  out.  Apparently,  its  secondary  effects  had  led  her  to 
have  recourse  to  embellishment,  and  it  could  not  be  denied 
that  these  endeavors  were  becoming,  provided  they  went 
no  further;  her  blonde  type  of  beauty  had  been  set  off  by 
the  more  deliberate  attention  which  she  paid  to  her  attire. 
Further  observation  had  convinced  Henry  a  little  later  that 
she  was  also  more  assiduous  in  her  work,  as  if  greater 
proficiency  were  a  part  of  her  programme,  and  he  breathed 
more  freely.  If  her  ambition  had  been  aroused,  might 
not  the  unfortunate  episode  even  prove  an  advantage 
after  her  disappointment  had  died  out  ?  In  his  eagerness  to 
atone  for  the  distress  of  which  he  had  been  the  unwitting 
cause,  Henry  raised  her  salary,  and  shortly  after  moving 
into  his  new  offices  he  had  offered  her  the  chance  of  earn 
ing  extra  compensation  by  doing  occasional  clerical  work 
for  his  Uncle  Baxter.  Miss  Brackett  thanked  him.  Her 
manner  was  still  distant,  indicating  that  she  desired  to 
maintain  the  most  strictly  formal  relations  with  her  em 
ployer;  but  whatever  her  repugnance,  she  showed  no 
signs  of  wishing  to  leave  his  service.  Such  was  the  con 
dition  of  affairs  at  the  time  of  Chauncey's  visit,  which 
accounts  for  his  momentary  confusion  when  compliment- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  427 

ed  by  this  fastidious  judge  on  the  attractions  of  his  sten 
ographer. 

On  this  same  day,  after  leaving  the  bank — the  Massa- 
soit  National — where  his  block  of  Saxonville  Electric 
bonds  and  stock  were  pledged,  Chauncey  had  proceeded 
but  a  few  hundred  yards  before  he  came  face  to  face  with 
Blaisdell.  Stopping  to  exchange  greetings,  each  con 
gratulated  the  other  simultaneously  on  the  price  at  which 
Electric  Coke  had  sold  that  morning. 

"On  its  merits,  too,"  added  Blaisdell  with  suavity. 
"Every  shareholder  must  feel  satisfied,  and  yet  no  one 
can  deny  that  we  have  managed  a  good  thing  conserva 
tively." 

"Conservatively?  I  should  say  we  had.  We— 
Chauncey  paused  abruptly,  fearing  that  his  enthusiasm 
might  defeat  his  purpose.  He  was  sufficiently  extended, 
already;  the  time  was  not  so  convenient  as  he  could  wish; 
but  if  Blaisdell  were  ready  to  sell,  he  could  not  afford  to 
let  the  opportunity  slip.  "After  all,  we  are  dependent  on 
patents — and  where  patents  are  concerned,  I  suppose  no 
one  can  feel  absolutely  safe." 

"One  thousand  dollars  per  share  is  a  good  round  price 
for  the  stock.  You've  always  been  a  bull  on  it  and  must 
have  done  exceedingly  well.  About  three  hundred  shares 
came  out  this  morning;  from  what  source  I  do  not  know. 
I'm  not  in  the  market  at  that  figure;  for  the  moment,  it's 
high — high  enough.  On  the  other  hand,  if  there  is  any 
large  interest  desirous  of  realizing,  I  wouldn't  mind  adding 
to  my  holdings  for  a  long  pull." 

This  was  dispassionate.  Blaisdell  was  willing  to  show 
his  hand  to  the  extent  of  intimating  that  here  was  a  chance 
to  reap  a  handsome  profit  and  retire  from  the  field,  if  hie 
would-be  rival  were  so  disposed.  If  done  promptly  and 


428  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

with  good  grace,  it  might  be  the  first  step  toward  a  peace 
able  settlement  of  other  scores.  His  tone  was  the  confi 
dential  one  of  a  man  ready  to  do  another  a  good  turn;  if 
the  other  were  sane  enough  to  take  advantage  of  the 
offer. 

"  For  a  long  pull  ?  That  has  always  been  my  argument. 
Curiously  enough,  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  asking  you 
the  same  question — whether  you  feel  like  selling  out.  That 
is,  I  assume  that  mine  was  the  large  interest  you  had  in 
mind."  There  was  a  touch  of  his  father's  formality  in 
Chauncey's  bland  assertion. 

"It  had  occurred  to  me  that  you— and  the  various 
branches  of  your  family  who  hold  stock — might  think  it 
was  high  enough  and  feel  disposed  to  realize." 

"But  it's  almost  a  family  stock,  Blaisdell.  Uncle  Bax 
ter — I  put  him  in  one  day  five  years  ago  almost  by  main 
force — never  sells  anything;  and  if  Aunt  Georgiana  were 
to  close  out  on  my  advice  and  the  stock  went  up,  where 
would  I  be  ?  She  hasn't  forgotten  the  leading  part  I  took 
on  behalf  of  the  Bacchante.  Where  did  you  get  your  hat, 
Blaisdell?  It's  a  dandy." 

The  straw  hat  in  question  was  a  Panama  of  finest  texture 
—at  that  time  rarely  visible  on  the  streets  of  Boston. 
Beneath  its  ample  curling  brim  BlaisdelPs  eyes  were  in 
shadow,  and  his  round  face  looked  exasperatingly  cool. 

"It  ought  to  be;  it  cost  $500.  I  have  those  fads  occa 
sionally."  He  took  the  Panama  off  and  twirled  it  round 
on  his  index  finger  for  Chauncey's  inspection.  "Think  it 
over,  Chippendale,  think  it  over.  No  hurry;  the  same 
offer  is  open  for  six  months.  By  Jove,  it  is  hot,"  he  ex 
claimed,  replacing  the  hat  on  his  head  which  was  becom 
ing  bald  at  the  crown.  "Step  in  out  of  the  sun  or  you'll 
bake,  for  there's  another  matter  I  wish  to  speak  to  you 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  429 

about."  They  were  on  Congress  Street.  Hooking  his 
arm  through  Chauncey's  he  led  him  into  a  door-way. 
"I've  been  poaching  on  another  of  your  preserves,  for  I 
take  it  Massasoit  National  might  be  called  one  of  your 
family  stocks.  Electric  Coke  started  in  my  family,  but  I 
dare  say  my  desire  to  control  it  is— er— an  expensive  fad. 
In  the  case  of  Massasoit,  my  dear  Chauncey,  I  feel  that 
I  am  performing  a  public  service  in  proving  to  the  present 
owners  that  it  is  worth  more  than  it  has  been  selling  for, 
and  at  the  same  time  saving  an  old  Boston  property  from 
rusting  out." 

Chauncey  was  listening  for  a  clue  to  what  his  companion 
was  driving  at.  Irony  was  not  Blaisdell's  usual  method, 
but  this  sounded  very  much  like  polite,  withering  satire, 
though  the  speaker  seemed  in  the  best  of  humor.  "What 
is  rusting  out?  If  you  refer  to  Massasoit  National,  it  is 
solid  as  a  rock." 

"Relatively  speaking;  but  it's  a  small  bank— and  there 
are  too  many  small  banks  in  Boston.  What  I  wished  to 
say  is  that,  for  the  shares  owned  by  you  and  your  relatives, 
I  am  prepared  to  give  one  hundred  and  thirty-two,  which, 
as  you  are  aware,  is  fifteen  dollars  more  than  the  market 
price." 

So  firmly  and  glibly  were  these  words  spoken  that  they 
presaged  to  Chauncey's  ears  a  mastery  of  this  particular 
situation,  whatever  it  might  prove  to  be.  The  Massasoit 
was  a  family  property  in  the  most  desirable  sense — Chaun 
cey  could  borrow  money  there  whenever  he  wished; 
although  an  old-fashioned  institution,  his  collateral  was 
never  questioned.  About  one-quarter  of  the  small  capital 
stock  was  owned  by  kinsfolk  or  people  with  whom  he  was 
closely  affiliated.  He  was  a  director  and  hand-in-glove 
with  the  management  who  were  glad  to  have  the  firm's 


430  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

account  in  return  for  reasonable  favors  which  were  not 
abused. 

Chauncey  freed  his  arm  and  faced  him. 

"  Our  stock  isn't  for  sale,  thank  you.     " 

"Not  when  I  tell  you  that  I  and  certain  other  financial 
interests  already  own  a  controlling  interest?" 

Chauncey  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  smiling 
grimly  sought  to  appear  unruffled.  It  was  certainly  a  very 
hot  day.  The  narrow  rim  of  his  flat  straw  hat  seemed  a 
feeble  visor  against  the  sun,  and  despite  his  London  suit  of 
thinnest  India  flannel,  he  was  perspiring  uncomfortably. 
He  realized  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  that  the  flower  in 
his  button-hole  was  already  wilted.  "What's  up?  Have 
you  been  organizing  a  still  hunt?" 

"  Only  what  I've  just  told  you,  man.  We've  bought  up 
a  controlling  interest  in  order  to  merge  the  Massasoit 
National  with  the  Marine  National.  Every  business  man 
knows  that  there  are  too  many  small  banks  in  Boston — 
and  yours  happened  to  come  in  our  way.  We  had  to 
organize  a  still  hunt,  for  if  we  had  gone  to  you  in  the  first 
place  and  you  had  declined  to  sell,  the  price  would  have 
soared.  It  wouldn't  have  been  business.  You're  getting 
fifteen  dollars  more  than  the  stuff  is  worth  at  present — 
which  you  can  put  into  Electric  Coke  for  a  long  pull;  and, 
as  for  accommodation,  we'll  try  to  make  it  worth  while  for 
you  and  your  firm  to  stay  with  us." 

"I've  just  come  from  the  bank  and  they  didn't  know 
anything  about  it  there." 

This  was  in  the  nature  of  an  ebullition  of  surprise,  not  a 
challenge  of  the  facts  which  Chauncey  painfully  realized 
must  be  exactly  as  the  older  man  had  stated. 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  bank  with  the  papers  when  I 
met  you,"  replied  Blaisdell,  indicating  the  small  leather 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  431 

hand-bag  which  he  carried.  "After  ordering  the  transfers 
made  I  was  going  to  call  at  your  office  to  offer  you  the  same 
terms  as  those  the  majority  interests  accepted.  We  are 
willing  to  buy  the  whole  capital  stock;  and  it  will  facilitate 
the  process  of  liquidation  if  I  may  send  cheques  as  soon  as 
possible  to  the  people  you  represent  in  order  to  clean  the 
matter  up." 

Chauncey  mused  for  a  moment.  "He  has  us  pinched," 
he  said  to  himself.  "We  left  the  gate  ajar  and  he  slipped 
in."  There  was  really  no  excuse  for  virtuous  resentment; 
control  was  control  and  included  the  right  to  wind  up  the 
bank  or  merge  it  in  the  larger  concern.  He  himself  could 
have  had  it  at  any  time  during  the  last  ten  years  without 
very  much  outlay,  and,  as  Blaisdell  had  stated,  to  have 
approached  him  first  would  have  put  him  on  his  guard. 

"As  a  matter  of  sentiment  I  hate  to  see  the  old  land 
marks  swept  away,"  he  replied.  "My  grandfather  kept 
his  account  at  the  Massasoit."  This  was  as  much  as  to 
say  that  to  surrender  was  the  only  course  open  to  him. 

"All  old  landmarks  have  to  go  in  time  except  those  de 
liberately  preserved  for  historic  purposes.  And  some  of 
them  have  no  cash  value.  I  realize  your  attachment  to  the 
venerable  institution;  but  cold  cash  is  a  salve;  it  always 
comes  in  handy." 

Chauncey  could  not  deny  that  the  truth  of  the  last  re 
mark  was  exemplified  by  his  own  necessities.  Apart  from 
the  annoyance  of  having  been  dispossessed  summarily,  the 
cash  would  come  in  handy.  He  almost  fancied  that  he  de 
tected  a  twinkle  in  the  depths  of  Blaisdell' s  sharp  eyes  as  if 
the  cheery  consolation  proffered  masked  a  well-cherished 
suspicion  that  it  would. 

"I'll  think  the  matter  over  for  a  day  or  two  and  write 
you,"  he  answered. 


432  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"And  think  the  other  matter  over,  too.  It's  just  a  fad 
of  mine,  as  I  told  you,  that  I  wish  the  field  to  myself." 

Chauncey's  features  broke  into  a  knowing  smile.  "  Oh, 
yes,  I'll  think  it  over,"  he  retorted  in  a  tone  intended  to 
convey  an  ultimatum. 

Chauncey,  whose  summer  home  was  at  Pride's  Crossing 
on  the  North   Shore — six  picturesque  acres  of  woodland 
and  lawn,  fronting  the  sea,  about  forty  minutes  from  Bos 
ton  by  the  fast  trains— had  promised  his  wife  that  morning 
to  bring  from  their  town  house  a  trinket  which  she  had 
overlooked.    As  later  in  the  day  he  drove  down  Beacon 
Street  and  through  the  deserted  Back  Bay  with  its  rows  of 
closed  houses,  tenantless  save  for  caretakers  who  protected 
them  against  rust  and  moths  and  washed  the  family  linen 
transplanted  weekly  to  and  fro  in  straw  hampers,  he  aired 
his  thoughts  in  the  one-horse  cab,  for  he  was  safe  from 
being  pried  upon.    Why  not  take  Blaisdell  at  his  word  and 
realize  on  Electric  Coke?    He  had  made  a  magnificent 
profit;    and  the  ready  money  would  wipe  out  his  obliga 
tions  and  leave  him  free  to  engage  in  new  enterprises. 
Would  not  the  huge  cost  of  modern  living,  to  which  he  had 
referred  feelingly  to  Henry  that  morning,  justify  a  prudent 
man  in  readjusting  his  affairs  by  means  of  such  a  hand 
some  deal  ?    He  was  one  of  the  rich  men  of  Boston,  his 
credit  was  of  the  best,  and  his  father-in-law  was  behind 
him.    But  he  was  borrowing  a  quantity  of  money  and  most 
of  his  financial  canvas  w^ls  spread.    Nearly  everything  he 
owned  looked  well — was  almost  sure  to  be  profitable  in  the 
end  if  the  times  continued  good ;  for  the  moment,  however, 
to  increase  his  sail  area  further  would  expose  him  to  the 
risks  of  kiting.    To  sell  out  would  be  in  a  measure  a  relief 
— but  it  would  be  a  grievous  blow  to  his  pride. 

For  would  not  State  Street  argue,  if  he  disposed  of  his 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  433 

holdings  and  shortened  sail,  that  he  was  content  with 
second  place  ?  Would  it  not  be  tantamount  to  an  admis 
sion  that  he  had  been  crowded  out  of  the  race,  and  that 
this  smooth-spoken,  prosperous  newcomer  was  to  be  the 
ruling  force  in  local  financial  affairs  henceforth?  There 
was  where  the  shoe  pinched.  He  aspired — and  his  wife 
aspired  for  him — to  leadership  both  down-town  and  up; 
to  an  ascendency  which  should  safeguard  and  enhance 
the  glamour  associated  with  the  name  of  Chippendale,  so 
that  it  might  stand  even  more  significantly  than  in  the  past 
for  irreproachable  social  distinction.  He  had  set  his  heart 
on  securing  the  control  of  Electric  Coke;  and  why?  Was 
it  not  chiefly  that  by  so  doing  he  might  checkmate  the  too 
exuberant  ambitions  of  Blaisdell?  Prevent  this  would-be 
autocrat  from  dictating  to  him  and  to  everybody  what 
should  and  should  not  happen  on  State  Street  ?  It  was  the 
Boston  of  the  past  for  which  he  stood — the  Boston  of  fine 
social  and  commercial  traditions,  of  conservatively  pro 
gressive  instincts  and  discriminating  point  of  view,  as  op 
posed  to  the  Boston  of  yesterday  and  from  nowhere  in 
particular,  with  its  ostentatious  lack  of  distinction  and  its 
social  obtuseness.  It  might  be  desirable  for  him  presently 
to  take  in  sail  in  order  to  avoid  any  possible  danger  from 
running  too  close  to  the  wind;  he  would  do  so  at  the  first 
favorable  opportunity.  But  not  to  give  way  at  this  im 
portant  juncture  appeared  to  him,  now  that  he  had  a 
chance  to  weigh  the  matter,  as  an  obligation  which  he  owed 
both  to  himself  and  to  society.  His  personal  pride  was  in 
volved,  for  to  give  up  the  control  of  Electric  Coke  would  be 
virtually  equivalent  to  an  admission  that  he  had  been 
forced  to  let  go. 

Chauncey  had  reached  this  spirited  conclusion  before 
alighting  from  the  cab.    He  paused  a  moment  to  scan  the 


434  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

outside  of  his  carefully  closed  residence,  and  having  noted 
that  everything  was  as  it  should  be,  he  glanced  up  and  down 
the  deserted  avenue,  reflecting  that,  save  for  the  loneliness, 
Boston  was  not  such  an  undesirable  abode  in  summer. 
How  comparatively  cool  and  how  very  quiet  it  .was.  A 
faint  easterly  air  was  stirring.  He  observed  here  and  there 
an  occasional  person  sitting  on  the  benches  of  the  park 
which  divides  the  driveway,  enjoying  the  grateful  shade  of 
the  trees  which  were  planted  when  he  was  a  boy.  How 
they  had  spread,  and  how,  during  the  same  period,  Boston 
had  grown.  At  the  time  they  were  planted,  and  at  the 
later  date  when  his  father's  house  was  built,  he  could  have 
told  the  name  of  every  one  who  lived  there.  Nearly  twenty 
years  had  passed,  and  in  the  interim  the  family  fortunes 
had  waned  and  had  been  reestablished  after  vicissitudes. 
His  father's  place  on  the  North  Shore — originally  bought 
for  a  song — was  now  a  fortune  in  itself.  It  had  pulled 
them  through  while  he  was  sen-ing  his  apprenticeship 
down-town,  before  his  business  success  and  marriage  had 
made  his  own  position  enviable.  The  principal  shadow 
resting  on  the  family  escutcheon  at  present  was  that  his 
sisters  had  not  married — not  even  Georgiana,  whose  pi 
quancy  and  beauty  were  undeniable.  He  had  almost  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  not  well  for  a  girl  to  be  too 
fastidious.  As  for  Arthur,  his  younger  brother,  who  was 
physically  the  image  of  their  father,  there  was  room, 
too,  for  a  little  concern  on  his  account  on  the  score  of  way 
wardness.  He  had  offered  him,  on  leaving  college,  em 
ployment  in  his  office,  but  Arthur  had  shown  himself 
more  interested  in  leading  cotillons  and  collecting  first 
editions  than  in  work.  A  slight  coolness  between  them 
had  been  caused  by  his  inquiry  how  his  brother  could 
afford  to  be  the  owner  of  a  complete  first  edition  of 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  435 

Thackeray  and  to  possess  nearly  all  of  Dickens;  and  a 
few  months  later  Arthur  had  thrown  up  his  position 
with  Langdon  &  Company,  declaring  that  business  was 
uncongenial. 

This  had  occurred  four  years  before.  Ever  since  then  until 
recently  Arthur  had  been  ostensibly  idle,  of  which  condi 
tion  of  affairs  Chauncey  had  found  his  father  unduly  tol 
erant.  When  he  had  inquired  what  was  to  become  of 
Arthur  if  he  failed  to  follow  some  money-making  occupa 
tion,  Mr.  Chippendale  hinted  fondly  at  diplomatic  life  or 
literature.  But  whether  from  goading,  lack  of  pocket 
money  or  change  of  heart,  his  brother  had,  within  the  last 
six  months,  obtained  employment  with  the  firm  of  Stod- 
dard,  Kent  &  Company,  a  young  firm  of  stock-brokers, 
the  moving  spirit  of  which,  Jack  Stoddard,  formerly  an 
underling  of  Delano's,  BlaisdelPs  partner,  and  brought  up 
in  that  office,  had  recently  started  in  business  on  his  own 
account.  Jack  Stoddard  had  the  reputation  of  being 
quick-witted,  but  he  was  loquacious  and  apt  to  be  noisy. 
Rumor  reported  that  he  was  trying  to  make  friends  among 
fashionable  people,  and  an  ugly  rumor  had  already  reached 
Chauncey  that  Arthur's  post  was  the  result  of  a  tacit  com 
pact  to  obtain  invitations  to  balls  and  dinner-parties  for 
his  employer,  for  value  received  down-town.  For  a  Chip 
pendale  there  could  be  only  one  graver  breach — rank  com 
mercial  dishonesty;  but  to  probe  the  insinuation  would  be 
a  difficult,  not  to  say  ticklish,  undertaking.  Arthur  had 
always  shown  a  tendency  to  pick  up  unorthodox  acquaint 
ances;  this  intimacy  was  only  another  instance  and  harm 
less  on  the  surface.  Nevertheless,  the  suspicion  rankled 
in  Chauncey's  breast.  He  forebore  to  believe  that  a  Chip 
pendale  could  fall  so  low.  He  felt  convinced  in  his  heart 
that  the  report  was  baseless.  But  was  not  the  incongruity 


436  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

of  Arthur's  likings  for  strange  company  directly  responsible 
for  its  origin  ? 

A  few  days  subsequent  to  this  decision  not  to  sell  his 
holdings  of  Electric  Coke  to  Blaisdell,  his  wife  handed 
Chauncey  a  note  on  his  return  from  Boston.  It  was  from 
Priscilla  inquiring  if  there  were  room  for  Lora's  daughter 
Dorothy  in  the  dancing  class. 

"I  thought  that  was  settled  long  ago— that  there  wasn't 
room,"  said  Chauncey,  who  happened  to  remember  that 
the  matter  had  been  broached  in  the  dim  past. 

"That  was  the  younger  class,  the  Wednesday  evening; 
this  is  the  Friday.  There  probably  wasn't  room.  There 
never  need  be  if  the  applicants,  especially  the  girls,  are  ob 
jectionable,"  answered  Beatrice  Chippendale.  "I  suppose 
that  the  women  who  were  managing  the  class  at  that  time 
decided  that  they  didn't  fancy  the  mother.  But  Miss  Avery 
is  a  very  different  person;  the  girl,  who  is  very  pretty  I  be 
lieve,  is  likely  to  be  well  looked  after.  Why,"  she  added, 
realizing  that  she  was  going  out  of  her  way  to  frame  explana 
tions,  "I  showed  it  to  you  because  I  thought  you  would  be 
pleased  to  hear  that  I  was  doing  something  for  Mr.  Blais 
dell,  and  to  prevent  you  from  complaining  how  snobbish 
we  wives  always  are." 

"Blaisdell  is  getting  on  fast  enough  without  our  assist 
ance,"  replied  Chauncey  oracularly.  "  I'm  very  glad,  dear, 
that  there's  room." 

"  But  there  isn't  unless  I  decide  that  there  is.  How  mys 
terious  you  are,  Chauncey!  Have  you  and  Mr.  Blaisdell 
had  a  falling  out  down-town?"  Beatrice  asked  with  loyal 
solicitude.  "I  have  merely  to  write " 

"I  wouldn't  offend  Miss  Avery  for  anything.  She's  a 
fine  woman— and  a  thoroughbred."  Chauncey  suddenly 
stopped  rocking  in  the  piazza  chair  in  which  he  had  seated 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  437 

himself  to  enjoy  the  refreshing  sea  breeze  after  a  wilting 
day  in  the  city  and  slapped  his  knee.  "  It  would  be  a  mas 
ter  stroke  for  Blaisdell  if  he  could  induce  her  to  marry 
him." 

Beatrice  waved  aside  this  interjection  on  which  at  any 
other  time  she  would  have  been  glad  to  speculate.  "But 
what  has  he  been  doing  to  you,  Chauncey?" 

"The  last  time  we  met  he  was  smooth  as  silk." 

Beatrice  stamped  her  pretty  foot  imperatively.  "Tell 
me  what  he  has  been  doing." 

"Three  days  ago  we  met  on  the  street  and  each  tried 
politely  the  anaconda  act  on  the  other.  Neither  succeeded, 
but  I'm  bound  to  admit  to  the  wife  of  my  bosom  that  he 
came  nearer  to  swallowing  me  than  I  did  to  swallowing 
him." 

This  was  enigmatical.  Beatrice  gave  a  slight  shudder. 
Chauncey  always  told  her  of  his  troubles  in  the  end,  but 
his  method  was  sometimes  sardonically  roundabout.  Since 
he  persisted  for  the  moment  in  ambiguities  she  decided  to 
curb  her  impatience  and  to  change  the  subject  in  her  turn. 
"Your  mother  was  here  this  morning,"  she  said,  "and 
informed  me  that  your  cousin  Lily  Sumner  is  going  to 
practise  Christian  Science — take  an  office  and  earn  her  liv 
ing  by  healing  people,  as  she  calls  it." 

Chauncey  sighed.  Despite  his  habitual  optimism  and 
his  prosperity,  life — especially  family  affairs — seemed  to 
be  a  little  frayed  at  the  edges.  "I'm  not  surprised,"  he 
said  with  obvious  calm  after  a  pause.  "It  appears  to  me 
not  unlikely  that  one  of  that  versatile  branch  will  bring  up 
sooner  or  later  at  McLean  Asylum.  I  don't  pretend  to  be 
able  to  state  which  one." 

His  wife  smiled,  knowing  that  his  cousin  Henry  was 
specially  included  in  this  animadversion.  "Your  mother 


438  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

also  told  me,"  she  went  on,  "that  your  sister  Dorothy  is 
taking  a  course  in  chewing  her  food  very  fine  and  very 
slowly  so  as  to  reduce  her  weight.  She  has  lost  five  pounds 
in  three  weeks,  she  takes  an  eternity  over  every  mouthful, 
eats  next  to  nothing,  and  never  felt  better  in  her  life." 

Diverting  as  this  announcement  was,  it  served  to  in 
crease  Chauncey's  mental  perplexity.  "But  she  wasn't 
stout,"  he  protested. 

"No,  but  she  thought  she  was,"  answered  his  wife,  "and 
that  for  a  woman  amounts  to  the  same  thing." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"MRS.  CHAUNCEY  CHIPPENDALE  will  be  very  glad  to 
have  Dorothy,"  said  Priscilla.  She  had  reference  to  the 
dancing  class,  and,  as  she  spoke,  she  passed  that  lady's 
dainty  note  to  her  brother-in-law. 

Blaisdell  smiled  appreciatively.  The  ease  with  which 
she  had  arrived  at  this  desirable  result  impressed  him  as 
another  proof  of  the  efficiency  and  tact  with  which  he  had 
learned  to  credit  Priscilla  during  the  year  and  a  half  since 
his  wife's  death.  It  was  she  who  had  suggested  the  im 
portance  of  obtaining  Dorothy's  admission  to  the  class — 
thus  confirming  Lora's  own  solicitude;  it  was  she  who  had 
offered  to  take  the  steps  to  procure  this.  How  readily 
she  had  accomplished  it!  How  civil — gracious,  indeed, 
was  Mrs.  Chippendale's  reply.  Even  if  the  concession 
had  been  partially  inspired  by  his  own  show  of  power 
down-town,  there  was  no  denying  that  the  attitude  toward 
Priscilla  of  those  able  to  grant  social  favors  was  very 
different  from  that  toward  his  own  wife. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  439 

Nevertheless,  Blaisdell  handed  back  the  note  with  a  sig 
nificant  nod,  and  said:  "I  didn't  believe  she  would  refuse 
this  time.  How  poor  Lora's  heart  was  set  on  it!  She 
never  could  understand  why  the  door  was  closed  upon 
her.  Neither  could  I,"  he  asserted  a  little  sternly.  "But, 
thanks  to  you,  the  child  will  no  longer  be  boycotted." 

He  intended  this  to  be  a  personal  tribute  and  Priscilla 
felt  it  to  be  such.  It  was  not  the  first  sign  of  his  appro 
bation  which  she  had  received  of  late.  As  for  the  imme 
diate  topic,  which  the  harshness  of  his  phrase  forced  into 
fresh  prominence,  why  dwell  on  it?  Without  treason  to 
Lora  she  could  refuse  to  be  a  party  to  reviewing  the  bit 
terness;  refuse  to  probe  for  the  precise  causes  of  the 
refusal. 

But  Blaisdell  chose  to  make  his  point  plainer.  "Per 
haps  Lora  did  not  set  about  it  in  quite  the  same  way. 
You  understand  these  things  better  than  she  did." 

It  seemed  simpler  to  Priscilla  not  to  disclaim  this  dis 
crimination  between  herself  and  his  deceased  wife.  Per 
haps  the  past  consciousness  of  sundry  contrasts  to  her  own 
disadvantage  drawn  by  him  while  Lora  was  alive  helped 
her  to  let  it  pass  without  comment. 

Blaisdell,  however,  construed  her  silence  as  an  indica 
tion  that,  though  she  forbore  to  utter  a  word  of  disparage 
ment,  she  comprehended  his  meaning.  As  he  looked  at 
Priscilla  it  came  over  him  that  the  reason  for  his  growing 
admiration  of  her  was  that  she  invariably  comprehended 
his  meaning;  that  her  mind  kept  pace  with  his,  and  stimu 
lated  it,  which  was  the  essence  of  companionship.  Her 
riper  beauty  made  her  girlish  charms  pale  by  comparison. 
She  had  become  a  woman  of  the  world — the  big  world, 
just  as  he  was  a  man  of  the  big  world.  They  understood 
each  other.  How  her  society  had  ameliorated  his  lot! 


440  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

The  months  of  her  stay  had  slipped  away  without  the 
slightest  friction.  She  had  looked  after  his  children  and 
presided  over  his  house  so  naturally  and  engagingly  that 
before  he  realized  it  his  spirits  were  restored.  There  had 
been  no  differences  of  opinion  between  them;  no  signs  of 
the  restlessness  which  he  had  always  ascribed  to  her. 

He  had  sought  to  show  his  gratitude  and  appreciation 
by  an  open  purse.  Not  coarsely,  for  she  had  more  than 
enough  money  of  her  own;  but  by  endeavoring  to  anticipate 
her  wishes.  And  the  delightful,  engrossing  part  was  that 
her  tastes  inclined  her  toward  the  very  things  in  which  he 
had  always  wished  to  become  interested  and  to  be  given 
the  proper  lead.  Dear  Lora,  who  loved  him  so  lavishly, 
had  been  more  than  anxious  to  fulfil  this  part;  but  had  she 
not  in  the  last  years  of  her  life  lacked  the  requisite  knowl 
edge?  Her  chief  social  resource  had  been  display.  But 
Priscilla  subordinated  this  to  delicacy  and  imagination. 

Blaisdell  did  not  seek  to  evade  this  discovery.  On  the 
contrary,  he  hastened  to  apostrophize  it  as  the  crowning 
contribution  of  woman  to  the  partnership  of  modern  life. 
Here  Lora  had  fallen  short— loving  little  soul.  Why  shut 
his  eyes  to  it?  Her  merits  were  a  thousand;  her  fail 
ing  only  this.  But  to  the  mate  of  a  leader  like  himself, 
how  indispensable!  Lora  had  been  quicker  than  he  to 
realize  the  need,  and  knowledge  of  the  lack  of  it  had  em 
bittered  the  cup  of  the  darling's  happiness.  It  was  Pris 
cilla  who  had  drawn  his  attention  to  the  increasing  vogue 
of  the  impressionist  school,  enabling  him  to  buy  up  all  the 
Claude  Monets  in  the  market  while  the  majority  were  still 
challenging  the  vividness  of  their  landscape.  She  had 
taken  him  to  see  one  of  these  and  he  had  trusted  to  her 
enthusiasm  so  far  as  to  purchase  it  on  the  spot,  though  his 
eyes  were  startled  by  the  staring  greenness  of  the  grass  and 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  441 

the  purple  hues  imparted  to  the  tree  trunks.  At  her 
suggestion,  he  had  renounced  allegiance  to  Faust  and 
Fra  Diavolo  in  favor  of  Richard  Strauss  and  the  Rus 
sian  school.  When  in  mourning  one  could  go  to  the  sym 
phony  concerts;  besides,  he  liked. to  feel  himself  in  touch 
with  the  most  modern  expression  of  every  art.  Priscilla's 
obvious  intention  had  been  to  distract  him  from  his  sor 
row.  It  was  a  double  debt  which  he  felt  that  he  owed  her 
and  one  which  he  was  eager  to  repay.  They  had  made 
many  visits  together  to  the  studio  of  the  sculptor  who  was 
moulding  the  bust  of  Lora,  but  Blaisdell  had  not  yet 
decided  who  should  paint  his  wife's  portrait,  cherishing 
the  hope  that  Europe  might  be  explored  for  the  purpose. 
A  trip  to  Europe  in  his  sister-in-law's  company  might 
become  a  revelation  also,  and  he  would  thus  satisfy  his 
desire  to  do  something  at  once  by  way  of  showing  his 
gratitude. 

"I've  a  plan  to  propose  which  may  appeal  to  you,  Pris- 
cilla.  Why  shouldn't  we  go  abroad,  until  the  late  autumn  ? 
I  can  get  away  now,  and  who  knows  when  I  may  be  able 
to  again  ?  When  we  return  we  can  leave  Dorothy  to  spend 
a  year  in  Paris,  to  improve  her  French  accent;  you  have 
advised  that,  you  know.  As  for  Hugo,  if  he  insists  on  staying 
at  home  in  order  to  sail  his  thirty-footer,  he  may  remain 
here  if  he  prefers  and  be  monarch  of  all  he  surveys." 

Blaisdell,  standing  on  the  lawn  of  his  estate  at  Man- 
chester-by-the-Sea,  moved  his  hand  expansively  so  as  to  in 
clude  both  the  sixty  acres,  part  woodland,  part  promon 
tory,  which  his  gardeners  had  transformed  into  a  paradise, 
and  the  stretch  of  blue  water  reaching  far  as  the  horizon 
line— veritable  ocean — which  sparkled  in  the  afternoon 
sun  and  broke  in  gentle  waves  on  the  rocky  shore  but  a 
few  rods  beyond  his  feet.  He  had  purchased  this  point  of 


442  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

land,  which  was  situated  further  along  the  North  Shore 
than  the  Chippendale  and  Langdon  properties,  six  years 
before,  at  what  had  seemed  to  the  community  a  staggering 
price.  At  vast  expense,  he  had  redeemed  it  from  the 
grasp  of  wildness,  uprooting  here,  blasting  there,  clearing 
away  the  tanglewood  which  concealed  the  picturesqueness 
of  its  boulders,  and  fertilizing  the  irregular  soil  between, 
so  that  roses  bloomed  luxuriantly  just  out  of  reach  of  the 
salt  spray.  A  huge  white  colonial  house  and  stables  almost 
as  large  dwarfed  the  architecture  of  the  neighborhood — 
this  gold  coast  of  New  England — though  most  of  the  orig 
inal  plain  brown  cottages  of  the  Boston  merchants  who, 
a  generation  back,  had  built  summer  homes  at  Beverly, 
had  been  replaced  by  ampler  villas.  It  had  been  Lora's 
wish  to  follow  fashion  and  build  there.  He  could  congrat 
ulate  himself  on  his  discernment,  for  he  had  already  been 
offered  as  much  again  as  he  had  paid  for  the  site. 

As  Blaisdell  concluded,  Priscilla,  sitting  in  the  shadow 
of  a  shrubbery  at  a  tea-table  on  the  velvety  lawn,  reached 
out  for  a  packet  of  letters — the  evening  mail — which  lay 
beside  the  tray.  Blaisdell  liked  his  afternoon  tea — hot  or 
cold  according  to  the  atmosphere — and  Priscilla  was  apt 
to  be  on  hand  to  prepare  it  for  him  on  his  return  from  Bos 
ton.  He  had  made  a  long  day  in  town  and  the  mail,  includ 
ing  Mrs.  Chippendale's  reply,  had  been  delivered  shortly 
before  his  arrival  from  the  station. 

" Europe?  Four  months  in  Europe?  It  sounds  excit 
ing,  Hugh.  But  how  very  sudden ! "  She  seemed  to  ponder 
for  a  moment  as  if  lured  by  the  proposal.  Then  she  shook 
her  head  with  smiling  resolution.  "I  couldn't;  not  this 
year." 

"We  should  be  able  to  decide  on  some  one  to  paint 
Lora's  portrait.  Why  not  this  year  ?" 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  443 

"I  have  too  many  things  to  do." 

"But  the' children  are  to  go  with  us." 

"Other  things,  disconnected  with  the  dear  children, 
strange  as  it  may  seem." 

"Of  course  you  have;  I  did  not  mean  that.  It's  be 
cause  you  ought  to  have  a  vacation — a  genuine  vacation, 
that  the  idea  occurred  to  me.  I  wish  to  do  something  to 
show  you  how  deeply  I  appreciate  all  you  have  done  for 
the  children — and  done  for  me,  Priscilla.  And  I  thought 
that  a  trip  to  Europe  might  be  just  the  thing — do  you  good. 
It  should  be  a  real  vacation;  we  will  take  Mrs.  Avery  to 
keep  an  eye  on  the  children.  We  will  go  wherever  you 
wish  to  go,  see  everything  you  wish  to  see;  visit  all  the  gal 
leries,  and  you  could  help  me  to  pick  out  first-rate  things 
to  bring  home." 

"It  sounds  very  tempting  and  is  very  thoughtful  of  you, 
Hugh.  Another  year,  perhaps.  Curiously  enough  " — Pris 
cilla  smiled  as  if  inwardly  amused  by  what  she  was  about 
to  state — "I  am  thinking  of  taking  a  vacation — a  very 
short  one — a  fortnight  at  the  beginning  of  September." 
She  drew  one  of  the  letters  from  its  envelope  as  she  spoke. 

"Where,  if  I  may  ask?" 

"I'm  just  looking  to  see.  The  name  is  Camp  Natis- 
gouche — somewhere  in  the  wilds  of  Canada.  It's  a  camp 
ing  out  party.  I  never  have  camped  out  in  my  life." 

"Who  has  invited  you?" 

"Another  of  my  friends — Mr.  Sumner.  The  same 
party  has  been  going  there  for  several  years.  His  sister, 
Mrs.  Paton,  and  her  husband,  were  the  pioneers.  This 
year  they've  done  me  the  honor  to  include  me." 

Blaisdell  glanced  from  her  face  to  the  open  letter1  in  her 
hand.  "You  have  just  received  that?" 

"  I  accepted  a  fortnight  ago.    These  are  the  directions  as 


444  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

to  what  I  shall  need  to  take  and  wherewithal  I  shall  be 
clothed." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  silent  from  dismay.  "  What  do 
you  expect  to  do  there?  Fish,  I  suppose." 

"Undoubtedly." 

"If  you  would  prefer  salmon  fishing  to  Europe,"  Blais- 
dell  began  eagerly,  "I  am  sure  that  I  could" — Priscilla 
shook  her  head,  and  the  previous  look  of  amusement 
showed  itself  in  her  eyes.  "In  this  particular  party  you 
may  be  sure  that  fishing  will  only  be  a  pretext.  I  expect  to 
live  in  a  short  skirt  and  do  my  own  work.  We  shall  tramp 
and  picnic  all  day,  and  at  night,  by  the  big  camp  fire,  tell 
ghost  stories  and  discuss  the  problems  of  the  universe. 
I  know  what  it  will  be  like;  besides,  I've  been  warned." 

"Then  why  are  you  going?"  Blaisdell  had  felt  baffled 
by  the  definiteness  of  her  refusal,  but  this  playful  irony 
was  more  encouraging.  Bending  forward  to  deposit  his 
empty  tea  cup,  "he  added  expansively:  "You  had  much 
better  come  to  Europe." 

Again  Priscilla  shook  her  head.  "I  should  like  to  try — 
er — cooking  my  own  food  and  discussing  soul  problems 
just  for  once.  Perhaps  I  may  like  it;  who  knows?" 
Smiling,  she  bent  her  head  to  adjust  the  bunch  of  nastur 
tiums  in  the  front  of  her  spotless  white  frock.  "  Besides,  I 
have  promised  Mr.  Sumner." 

The  thought  that  she  was  planning  to  desert  him  even 
for  so  short  a  period,  and  at  the  bidding  of  this  man  above 
all  others,  warned  Blaisdell  that  he  had  been  living  in  a 
tool's  paradise — a  paradise  the  gate  of  w4iich  he  had  re 
frained  from  closing  because  he  was  so  happy  and  lest  he 
frighten  its  inmate  by  premature  captivity. 

"Suggest  to  him  to  invite  you  next  year  instead;  that's 
what  you  said  to  me." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  445 

Priscilla  looked  up  with  quick  solicitude  at  this  display 
of  pique.  "It  was  as  a  sop  to  his  feelings  that  I  agreed  to 
go.  Now  don't  tell  me,  Hugh,  that  I  have  hurt  yours." 

"A  sop  to  his  feelings?"  Blaisdell  was  conscious  of  a 
sudden  desire  to  probe  her  relations  with  this  disturber  at 
whose  instance  she  was  threatening  to  leave  him.  What  if 
he  were  unreasonable  ?  The  time  had  come  when  he  was 
willing  that  she  should  suspect  that  he  demanded  a  mo 
nopoly.  Sumner  was  constantly  at  the  house;  but,  despite 
the  episode  of  the  Bacchante,  he  had  taken  for  granted  that, 
however  intimate  their  footing,  Priscilla's  attitude  could 
not  fail  to  be  unequivocally  Platonic.  He  had  no  grounds 
for  thinking  otherwise  now,  and  yet  the  possibility  gave 
a  new  aspect  to  the  intercourse  between  them  which  stirred 
his  blood  and  cleared  his  brain  as  on  those  occasions  when 
all  his  powers  were  concentrated  on  carrying  out  a  vital 
purpose  by  striking  hard.  He  knew  exactly  now  what 
course  he  intended  to  follow.  His  chief  concern  was  that 
he  had  refrained  so  long  from  making  his  ultimate  object 
unmistakable. 

"Why,  yes."  Priscilla  showed  her  readiness  to  explain. 
"It  was  this  way.  In  those  first  months  after  dear  Lora's 
death,  when  it  seemed  impossible  that  her  clear-cut  per 
sonality  had  been  snuffed  out  like  a  candle,  it  occurred  to 
me  that,  if  there  were  anything  in  spiritualism,  Mrs.  Mer- 
rivale,  the  medium,  might  be  able  to  get  a  clew  and  estab 
lish  communication.  It  was  a  forlorn  hope;  I  was  a  scep 
tic  myself.  I  knew  you  didn't  believe  in  psychic  control, 
for  I  had  sounded  you.  I  decided  to  speak  to  Henry  Sum 
ner.  It  wasn't  that  he  discouraged  me;  it  was  the  intoler 
ant  way  (as  it  seemed  to  me  at  the  moment)  in  which  he 
declared  that  not  the  slightest  reliable  evidence  existed  of 
any  communication  with  the  dead — that  every  alleged  utter- 


446  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ance  was  a  sheer  triviality.  He  was  so  positive — that  I  lost 
my  temper.  Among  other  things  I  told  him  he  was  essen 
tially  narrow-minded.  And  we  hadn't  had  a  real  disagree 
ment  for  over  a  year." 

She  paused  as  if  she  wished  before  proceeding  to  impress 
this  last  fact  on  Blaisdell  by  way  of  extenuation.  But, 
knitting  his  brows,  the  latter  did  not  hesitate  to  exclaim: 
"He  was  tactless,  as  usual;  you  asked  for  bread  and  he 
offered  you  a  stone." 

"Exactly."  Priscilla's  countenance  brightened.  "But 
the  interesting  part  is  that  he  discovered  that  for  himself; 
wrote  me  next  day  the  most  contrite  of  letters,  apologizing 
abjectly  for  having  let  his  interest  in  the  subject  blind  him 
to  the  fact  that  what  I  really  needed  was  sympathy,  not 
dogmatism.  Only  think,  he  found  that  out  for  himself. 
Wasn't  it  a  master-stroke  of  self- analysis  ?  A  seven  league 
stride  toward  self-knowledge?"  Priscilla  paused  again  as 
if  she  expected  some  recognition  of  the  sparkling  interest 
which  she  displayed  in  this  phenomenon.  "Ah,"  she  cried 
suddenly  in  the  face  of  BlaisdelPs  deliberate  silence,  "I  be 
gin  to  despair  that  you  two  will  ever  be  sympathetic.  You 
never  seem  to  make  allowances  for  one  another.  You  are 
both  such  good  friends  of  mine  and  I  have  tried  so  hard 
to  bring  you  together."  She  sat  back  in  her  chair  with  her 
hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  dismayed  by  her  melancholy 
conclusion. 

Blaisdell  leaned  forward  solicitously  across  the  tea-table. 
He  felt  that  the  time  was  ripe  for  iconoclasm.  If  he  fore- 
bore  longer  to  disclose  the  clay  feet  of  this  grotesque  idol, 
might  not  her  strange  readiness  to  pardon  become  infatu 
ation?  "You  might  as  well  expect  oil  and  water  to  mix, 
Priscilla.  Henry  Sumner  and  I  look  at  everything  from 
politics  to — er — love  from  a  diametrically  different  stand- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  447 

point.  I  have  tried  to  propitiate  him  constantly — you 
must  have  realized  that — for  your  sake,  and  when  I  fail, 
I  flatter  myself  that  the  fault  is  not  wholly  mine.  My  motto 
is  'live  and  let  live';  no  two  men  think  precisely  alike;  and 
so  the  world  advances.  But  this  man" — Blaisdell  shook 
his  compressed  hands  to  enforce  his  argument — "  is  what 
the  world  calls  a  'stiff' — pardon  the  word.  He  is  so  self- 
righteously  unbending  that  he  can't  see  more  than  a  few 
inches  beyond  his  own  nose.  I  rarely  abuse  anybody,  as 
you  know.  The  inexplicable  thing  to  me  has  been  how 
a  whole-souled,  warm-blooded  woman  like  you  has  been 
able  to  hope  that  he  and  I  could  ever  become  friends.  I 
have  kept  silent  until  now  because  it  is  the  habit  of  my  life 
to  avoid  enmities." 

If  Priscilla  heard  with  wonder  this  show  of  rancor  so 
unusual  in  her  brother-in-law,  remembrance  of  Henry's 
freely-spoken  prejudice  inclined  her  to  listen  without 
immediate  protest. 

"It  was  because  you  were  both  such  dear  friends  of 
mine,"  she  replied,  "that  I  hoped  for  the  impossible,  I 
suppose." 

"If  I  had  been  in  his  shoes — obviously  a  persistent 
suitor — would  I  have  been  capable  of  such  density,  such 
self-absorption  and  lack  of  consideration  for — comprehen 
sion  of  you — as  he  exhibited  in  the  case  you  just  cited? 
I  would  have  let  you  consult  Mrs.  Merrivale  and  derive 
any  comfort  you  could." 

"Yes,  you  would,  Hugh."  Vaguely  troubled  as  she  was 
by  the  introduction  of  this  personal  note,  and  by  his  open 
reference  to  Henry's  courtship,  Priscilla  postponed  analysis 
of  their  significance  in  favor  of  the  response  which  rose  to 
her  lips  and  animated  her  features.  "Don't  you  see  that 
it  was  because  he  is  so  jealous  for  the  exact  truth — cannot 


448  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

bear  to  have  it  deviated  from  or  juggled  with  in  the  small 
est  degree — that  he  was  so  uncompromising  ?  In  the  letter 
he  wrote  me  he  went  on  to  explain  at  length  why  he  thought 
that  psychic  research  had  failed  to  reveal  anything  of  real 
value.  I  agree  with  him — but  he  lacks  imagination;  I 
wrote  him  so  in  reply.  At  the  same  time  it  dawned  on  me 
that  it  was  because  no  one  would  have  welcomed  genuine 
results  more  eagerly  than  he  that  he  is  so  relentless  toward 
the — er — trivialities  offered  by  self-delusion.  He  would 
love  to  believe  them  true." 

"The  wonder  is  he  does  not.  I  should  have  supposed 
such  visionary,  flimsy  material  would  appeal  to  him," 
blurted  out  Blaisdell. 

Priscilla  regarded  her  companion  with  amazement.  Was 
this  her  imperturbable,  diplomatic  brother-in-law?  Alas! 
it  seemed  inevitable  that  the  mention  of  the  name  of  either 
should  affect  the  other  as  a  red  rag  a  bull.  Why  should 
Hugh — the  tactful  Hugh — go  out  of  his  way  both  to  ignore 
the  palliation  which  she  had  just  revealed  and  to  seek  to 
impeach  the  merit  which  Henry  possessed  ?  She  shook  her 
head  saying:  "You  do  not  understand  him  a  bit  better 
than  he  does  you.  Constituted  as  he  is,  it  would  have 
been — er — even  more  impossible  for  Henry  Sumner  to 
believe  it  than  for  you.  Yet,"  she  continued — and  as  she 
spoke  she  rose,  looking  not  at  him  but  at  the  sparkling  sea 
with  the  wistfulness  of  one  investigating  a  tantalizing 
problem — "if  he  had  been  constituted  just  a  little  differ 
ently,  he  would  have  been  one  of  the  first  to  believe.  That 
is  one  of  the  interesting  things  about  these  people — they  have 
differences  of  administration  but  the  same  spirit.  Did 
you  know  that  his  sister  Lily  has  decided  to  practice  Chris 
tian  Science  ?  Henry  cannot  bear  the  thought — because  he 
is  so  clear-sighted.  And  yet  they  two  have  so  much  in 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  449 

common.  These  people?"  Laughingly  reproaching  her 
self  for  the  use  of  the  phrase  she  looked  at  Blaisdell.  "  One 
would  think  from  the  way  I  speak  they  were  an  alien 
tribe;  whereas  they  are  the  aborigines;  it  is  I  who  am 
different.  At  least,"  she  added,  and  her  qualification 
savored  of  doubt — "I  have  always  prided  myself  that  I 
was  different." 

"Different?  You  are  as  different  from  them  as  light  is 
unlike  darkness — as  a  whole-souled,  glorious  being  is 
unlike  a  narrow-minded,  ascetic  one."  BlaisdelPs  words 
vibrated  with  protest;  at  the  same  time  their  exuberance 
was  caressing.  Masterful  still,  the  truculent  air — so  for 
eign  to  him — had  vanished.  For,  gazing  at  her  spirited 
profile — at  her  graceful  yet  abundant  figure  glowing  with 
health  and  luscious  energy,  an  absorbing  need  of  imme 
diate  possession,  electrified  by  an  insidious  dread  of  losing 
her,  had  seized  on  him  and  fused  in  a  twinkling  all  other 
emotions — his  dislike  of  Henry  and  his  impatience  at  her 
tolerance  of  him — in  the  fiery  crucible  of  passion.  What 
mattered  anything  except  his  own  ability  to  demonstrate 
the  ardor  and  wealth  of  his  devotion  and  her  own  readi 
ness  to  reciprocate  it?  "You  and  I,  thank  God,  bieathe 
a  totally  different  atmosphere,  Priscilla,"  he  added. 

The  purport  of  his  words  was  not  unexpected;  but  the 
fervor  of  their  language  and  of  his  manner  were  not  lost  on 
Priscilla.  What  had  restored  and  exalted  his  habitual 
urbanity  ?  Her  hands  had  strayed  to  the  back  of  her  head 
to  replace  a  loosened  comb,  and  she  paused  involuntarily 
with  lifted  arms  to  challenge  the  mystery  of  his  demeanor. 
Her  fine  eyes  were  alert  with  the  double  perplexity  of  the 
current  problem  and  of  this  conjecture.  A  sea  breeze 
drawing  across  the  lawn  lightly  stirred  the  wealth  of  wavy 
dark-brown  hair  which  rose  from  her  broad  fair  brow.  She 


450  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

looked,  as  she  stood  there,  revealing  her  full  stature,  the 
embodiment  of  entrancing,  intelligent  womanhood,  ripe 
for  the  arms  of  a  lover. 

She  shook  her  head  smilingly  in  query  of  his  claim  so 
far  as  it  included  herself  "  Sometimes  I  think " 

Blaisdell,  swift  to  divine  the  doubt,  due,  as  he  believed, 
to  a  waywardness  which  was  more  than  half  mockery  of 
herself,  stifled  it  with  the  voice  of  amiable  command. 
"  Don't  be  absurd,  Priscilla.  Do  you  think  any  one  knows 
better  than  I  what  you  are  really  like  ?  What  an  exquisite 
evening  it  is !  The  sunset  will  be  glorious.  Shall  we  stroll 
to  the  Point  ?" 

The  desire  to  utilize  his  opportunity,  plus  the  impulse 
to  dispel  her  mood  so  that  he  might  have  her  undivided 
attention,  bade  Blaisdell  mask  his  fires.  What  more  inno 
cent  and  more  likely  to  appeal  to  her  than  this  walk  along 
the  shore — one  which  they  often  took  together  at  night 
fall — to  that  limit  of  his  estate  which  encroached  most  on 
the  sea? 

Priscilla  had  risen  with  the  intention  of  going  into  the 
house,  but  she  acquiesced  willingly.  "Isn't  it  beautiful?" 
she  murmured  as  if  she  had  failed  to  take  heed  until  now 
of  the  lucent  softness  of  the  landscape.  She  led  the  way 
along  the  gravelled  path  which  bordered  the  lawn  and 
wound  along  the  shore.  It  was  the  hour  when  both  hat 
and  sunshade  could  be  dispensed  with,  and  yet  a  wrap 
appeared  superfluous.  The  gentle  breeze,  still  wooed  by 
two  belated  sailboats  which  crept  toward  their  moorings, 
was  falling  every  minute  with  promise  of  a  complete  calm 
ere  the  radiance  of  sunset  should  suffuse  the  sky. 

A  short  cut  led  from  the  gravelled  path  through  a  piece 
of  woods  already  dusky  with  the  menace  of  the  approach 
ing  twilight.  The  soft  brown  carpet  they  trod  was  strewn 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  451 

with  pine  needles;  the  gnarled  roots  of  the  tree  trunks 
wore  a  fringe  of  fungus  deep  orange  in  hue.  Priscilla, 
spellbound  by  a  recent  ardor  for  ferns,  spied  constantly  on 
either  hand,  stooping  now  and  again  to  examine  or  pluck 
one  of  her  favorites.  Blaisdell  held  his  peace  content  for 
the  moment  to  stroll  protectingly  at  her  side  and  enjoy  the 
glamour  of  her  presence.  Who  could  compare  with  her  in 
charm  and  dignity  ?  With  her  as  a  wife  his  social  future — 
that  of  Lora's  children — would  be  so  completely  assured 
that  he  could  banish  all  concern  forever.  For  magnifi 
cently  as  he  held  out  to  his  dead  wife  the  promise  of  social 
leadership  on  the  very  strength  of  their  isolation,  and 
sought  to  comfort  her  by  insisting  on  it,  she  had  been  more 
discerning  than  he.  His  loss  had  made  clear  to  him  beyond 
doubt  that  a  barrier  existed  between  him  and  the  people 
whom  Lora  had  wished  to  know.  However  invidious  this 
discrimination — whatever  its  precise  cause — if  he  married 
Priscilla,  this  barrier  would  fall  once  and  for  all.  Here  in 
itself  was  a  reason  for  making  her  his  wife,  if  no  other  ex 
isted.  "Know  thyself!"  Blaisdell  had  always  prided 
himself  on  self-knowledge,  and  he  did  not  shrink  from  it 
now,  even  though  acquired  late  and  grudgingly.  How 
completely  Priscilla  eclipsed  in  beauty  and  fascination  the 
feminine  flower  of  the  Chippendale  family,  the  only  one  of 
that  arrogant  stock  whom  he  had  had  the  opportunity  to 
observe  closely — Chauncey's  sister  Georgiana.  For  it  was 
a  part  of  his  self-knowledge  that  the  visit  of  this  aristocratic 
young  woman  to  persuade  him  to  preside  over  the  meeting 
of  the  friends  of  the  Bacchante  had  flattered  him  in  spite  of 
himself.  She  had  sat  and  talked  with  him  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  He  remembered  vividly  her  bird-like  head  and 
soft  eyes,  her  extreme  daintiness  of  manner.  There  was 
something  about  her  which  he  had  recognized  to  be  dis- 


452  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

tinction.  But  she  was  not  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same 
breath  with  Priscilla.  If  the  latter  accepted  him  he  would 
be  able  henceforth  to  snap  his  fingers  at  the  Chippendales 
and  all  their  tribe. 

Egress  from  the  short  stretch  of  woods  brought  them 
near  their  destination,  the  extreme  projection  of  the  irreg 
ular  headland  composing  BlaisdelPs  estate.  The  site  of 
the  house  was  at  the  highest  point,  behind  them  but  fur 
ther  to  the  east.  What  lay  in  front  sloped  to  the  coast,  but 
was  still  commanding.  Its  basis  was  the  solid  rock.  Nev- 
theless,  the  thin  covering  of  earth  which  had  settled  in  its 
crannies  had  proved  sufficient  for  the  nurture  of  the  hardy 
vegetation  which  at  the  time  of  Blaisdell's  purchase  cov 
ered  it  almost  to  the  water's  edge.  His  architect  had 
cleared  away  the  lesser  growths,  leaving  only  a  single  group 
of  sentinel  trees  to  lend  themselves  to  his  scheme  of  an 
oasis  by  providing  picturesque  shade.  An  undulating  hol 
low  in  the  rocks  had  been  transformed  to  a  rose  garden,  on 
one  side  of  which  stood  a  low  summer  house  of  artistic 
design  dominating  the  shore  in  either  direction.  No  other 
spot  in  the  neighborhood  afforded  a  more  comprehensive 
view.  Across  the  water  to  the  right  lay  historic  Marblehead, 
the  harbor  of  which  was  now  the  favorite  rendezvous  of 
yachts  big  and  small;  and  in  the  remoter  distance,  the 
peninsula  of  conventional  Nahant,  lair  of  the  reappearing 
but  mysteriously  elusive  sea  serpent.  (Mr.  Harrison 
Chippendale  as  a  young  man  had  seen  it  off  Egg  Rock  and 
sent  an  account  of  the  experience  to  the  Transcript).  Far 
to  the  left  was  the  fishing  city  of  Gloucester  and  that  long 
range  of  picturesque  coast  culminating  in  Cape  Ann,  a  sea 
mark  too  remote  for  the  naked  eye  save  on  the  clearest 
days  or  when  aided  by  the  magic  of  mirage. 

Priscilla  was  invariably  fascinated   by   the   combined 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  453 

beauty  and  freedom  of  this  retreat,  for,  though  so  promi 
nent,  the  Point  was  virtually  isolated.  The  intervening 
stretch  of  woods  shut  out  the  summer  house  from  the  scru 
tiny  of  the  nearer  eastern  shore  and  a  trellis  of  vines  screened 
it  from  the  powerful  predatory  telescopes  of  the  dwellers  at 
Beverly  Farms.  Here  were  wildness  and  the  swish  of  the 
ocean,  with  a  background  of  luxuriant  verdure — that  allur 
ing  combination  of  sea-side  and  country  which  renders 
this  part  of  the  New  England  coast  so  priceless  in  its 
charm. 

To-night,  in  coloring,  both  sky  and  water  were  excep 
tionally  beautiful.  During  their  stroll  the  sun  had  dropped 
below  the  horizon  and  bathed  the  clouds  in  vivid  hues  now 
settling  into  a  broad  band  of  lucent  saffron  glory  arched  by 
delicate  purples  and  grays,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  crowning 
effect  of  twilight  in  this  region.  They  had  arrived  at  the 
very  acme  of  the  parting  between  day  and  night  and  Pris- 
cilla,  with  a  murmur  of  rapture,  seated  herself  to  enjoy  the 
too  short  pageant.  The  breeze  had  died  completely  away; 
the  surface  of  the  water  was  so  smooth  that  it  mirrored 
here  and  there  the  changing  colors;  the  gentle  lapping  of 
the  recurrent  ocean  on  the  dark-brown  matted  sea-weed  of 
the  barnacled  rocks  was  the  only  sound  which  nature 
uttered.  In  the  left  hand  of  the  two  small  bays,  which  this 
projection  of  the  headland  formed,  BlaisdelPs  large  steam 
yacht  rode  at  her  moorings,  and  along  the  offing  on  either 
side  were  other  craft  of  varying  sizes,  some  at  anchor,  two 
or  three  becalmed  with  drooping  canvas.  Upon  one  of  the 
latter  Blaisdell  levelled  the  spy-glass  which  lay  close  to 
his  hand. 

"It's  Hugo,  the  rascal — and  all  alone.  It  won't  please 
him  to  be  obliged  to  row  ashore,"  he  remarked  with  a 
chuckle.  "Only  yesterday  he  was  imploring  me  to  put  an 


454  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

auxiliary  motor  in  his  thirty-footer  so  as  to  provide  for 
dead  calms,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to." 

There  was  something  in  his  parental  satisfaction  which 
chimed  in  with  the  current  of  Priscilla's  reverie.  "  You  are 
certainly  to  be  envied,  Hugh;  this  is  the  most  exquisite 
situation  on  the  shore.  You  were  very  wise  to  buy  it.  One 
could  never  tire  of  it.  And  when  one  thinks,"  she  went  on, 
as  if  eager  to  account  for  a  sentiment  which  might  other 
wise  seem  stale,  "that  all  of  this  wonderful  coast  has  been 
transformed  in  our  lifetime — I  will  not  say  redeemed,  for 
it  must  always  have  been  superb;  but  its  sternness  has 
been  subordinated  to  beauty  by  such  men  as  you;  and  its 
stern  spirit  also,  so  that  we  who  sit  here  spellbound  by 
this  lovely  panorama  of  villas,  lawns  and  gardens  forget  to 
think  of  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  and  of 

1  Old  Floyd  Ireson  for  his  hard  heart 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead.' 

The  old  New  England  is  slipping  away." 

Despite  the  enthusiasm  of  her  tribute,  there  was  just  a 
touch  of  melancholy  in  this  last  statement.  Time's  obse 
quies,  like  the  leaves  of  autumn,  touch  the  reverent  heart. 
But  Blaisdell,  though  he  listened,  was  virtually  deaf,  for  her 
opening  words  had  provided  him  a  cue  and  he  was  merely 
waiting  for  her  to  finish. 

"The  world,  indeed,  might  envy  me  the  possession  of 
everything  here — if  I  had  one  thing  more." 

His  tone  was  significantly  amorous,  yet  she  remained 
puzzled.  "What  is  that  you  lack,  Hugh?" 

"You.  You  as  its  real  mistress.  No  limited  tenure — 
but  my  wife  in  fee  and  forever." 

"Your  wife,  Hugh?    Your  wife?"    In  her  consternation 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  455 

Priscilla  spoke  below  her  breath  as  if  she  feared  that  the 
boulders  might  prove  eavesdroppers.  She  turned  crimson 
and  rose  to  her  feet.  Was  she  seeking  to  escape  from  the 
pavilion  ? 

If  such  her  purpose,  Blaisdell  barred  the  way.  "You 
must  listen  to  me.  I  am  terribly  in  earnest."  He  pushed 
her  back  gently  into  her  seat. 

Priscilla  covered  her  flaming  face  with  her  hands.  She 
appreciated  that  she  had  reached  a  crisis  in  her  life  which 
she  was  powerless  to  evade. 

"Have  you  not  realized  that  I  was  desperately  in  love 
with  you?"  she  heard  him  ask. 

Blaisdell  saw  her  shake  her  head.  He  paused  a  moment. 
"What  is  more,  I  have  loved  you  from  the  day  we  first 
met." 

She  removed  her  hands  and  looked  up  at  him.  "How 
can  you  say  a  thing  like  that?  It  cannot  be  true." 

Blaisdell  had  been  willing  to  risk  shocking  her.  The 
important  consideration  was  to  convince  her  of  the  genu 
ineness  of  his  passion;  to  sweep  her  off  her  feet  by  his  un 
mistakable  ardor.  Was  not  this  the  surest  method  to  win 
a  woman  of  her  nature  ?  The  way  she  would  prefer  to  be 
wooed?  He  was  prepared  for  the  painful  thought  which 
visibly  harassed  her. 

"It  sounds  like  effrontery;  but  it  is  not;  neither  toward 
you  nor  toward  the  dead."  He  saw  her  wince  with  repug 
nance  at  the  definite  allusion  to  Lora.  "How  do  I  explain 
this?  I  was  not  conscious  of  my  love  at  the  time;  I  even 
struggled  against  it.  You  always  piqued  me;  but  I  did 
not  understand.  We  were  boy  and  girl  then.  We  have 
both  developed  since;  and  with  growth  comes  self-knowl 
edge.  The  best  of  mine  is  that  I  know  for  certain  now — • 
and  can  declare  without  treason  to  anybody — that  all  the 


456  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

time  and  from  the  very  first  you  were  my  affinity. "  He  felt 
as  he  uttered  this  last  word  that  it  was  felicitous— that  it 
clarified  the  situation  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  "  Yes, 
my  affinity,"  he  repeated.  Quick  to  detect  from  her 
troubled  gaze  that  its  import  was  not  lost  on  her,  he  reached 
for  and  grasped  her  hand  and  bending  forward  whispered: 
"I  have  been  frank  with  you,  Priscilla;  so  frank  that  you 
were  horrified— repelled  at  the  outset.  Search  your  own 
heart,  dearest;  be  frank  with  me.  If  I  had  offered  myself 
to  you  years  ago  when  we  were  in  Dartmouth  Street, 
would  you  not  have  said  'yes'  ?" 

Blaisdell  was  satisfied  with  the  cumulative  effect  of  his 
audacity,  for  though  Priscilla  started  and  flushed  vividly 
at  this  overwhelming  question,  she  did  not  free  her  hand 
as  indignant  self-respect  might  have  momentarily  prompted, 
but  sat  with  downcast  eyes  seemingly  fascinated  by  his 
plea  and  his  inquiry.  Did  not  her  willingness  to  tolerate 
his  boldness  presage  victory?  He  had  been  politic  as  well 
as  truthful  in  demonstrating  to  her  that  she  was  the  only 
woman  he  had  ever  truly  loved.  She  had  been  appalled 
by  what  she  might  have  deemed  his  lack  of  delicacy  in 
exalting  her  at  the  expense  of  Lora;  she  might  demur  a 
little  still.  But  instinct  assured  him  that  she  was  a  woman 
who  would  brook  this  more  readily  than  consent  to  be  his 
second  choice. 

The  thoughts  had  been  surging  swiftly  through  Pris- 
cilla's  brain.  Genuine  astonishment,  not  unmixed  with 
dismay,  at  his  declaration  had  been  succeeded  by  willing 
ness  to  listen  born  of  feminine  pride.  Whatever  answer 
she  might  make,  such  words  from  Hugh  were  sweet  to 
hear.  The  next  instant  the  comparison  with  Lora  had 
distressed  her  by  its  lack  of  delicacy.  Then  while  she  still 
listened,  his  subtle  but  fervent  explanation  had  procured 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  457 

his  pardon.  She,  his  affinity?  Here  was  a  condition  of 
soul  which  he  was  justified  in  divulging,  if  it  were  true; 
and  such  a  thrilling  phrase  merited  scrutiny  on  her  own 
account.  So  far  had  Priscilla  followed  him  when  his 
direct  challenge  rang  in  her  ears,  bidding  her  turn  a  search 
light  on  her  heart.  A  search-light?  She  did  not  need  to 
do  so.  Had  not  his  accusation — almost  a  taunt — revealed 
the  truth  to  her  ingenuous  spirit?  She  was  ready  to  con 
fess  both  to  herself  and  to  him  the  detected  secret  of  her 
youth.  The  imperative  need  was  to  know  if  what  had 
then  been  true  remained  so  still.  So  the  words  sprang  to 
her  lips. 

"And  if  I  might  have  then,  does  it  follow  that  I  will 
now?" 

Coming  so  close  on  the  shock  of  his  insinuation,  this 
counter-question'was  far  more  propitious  than  he  had  dared 
hope.  "Why  should  it  not  be  true  now  as  well  as  then? 
I  have  more  to  offer  you,  Priscilla." 

"Have  you?"  The  inquiry  had  the  sound  of  being 
addressed  to  herself  rather  than  to  him.  "We  were  boy 
and  girl  then ;  we  have  both  developed  since,  as  you  your 
self  have  said,  Hugh."  What  did  the  secret  garden  of  her 
youth  resemble  now  that  its  latticed  wall  had  fallen  and  it 
lay  exposed  to  the  rash  gazer's  eye?  Did  its  roses  still 
rival  those  in  the  rambling  rock  hollow  close  by,  the  fra 
grance  of  which  reached  her,  or  did  they  hang  black  and 
withered  on  their  stalks  ?  She  knew,  yet  hated  to  look,  and 
sought  refuge  in  temporizing. 

"I  fully  expect  to  die  an  old  maid,"  she  added. 

Blaisdell  did  not  seek  to  conceal  his  revolt  from  such 
a  possibility.  "How  monstrous,  Priscilla — monstrous  and 
absurd.  You,  an  old  maid?  You,  in  the  ripeness  of 
splendid  womanhood — designed  by  nature  to  be  a  wife 


458  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

and  mother?"  It  was  no  time  to  mince  his  words.  Such 
a  repudiation  of  sex  was  a  moral  affront  to  a  vital  universe 
which  no  healthy  lover  could  tolerate.  "That  mildew  on 
the  heart  savors  directly  of  the  thin  air  of  Boston." 

Priscilla  looked  him  searchingly  in  the  face.  "You 
would  not  have  me  marry  you  unless  I  loved  you,  Hugh." 
"But  if  you  loved  me  once,  am  I  not  the  same?  How 
have  I  altered  ?  Do  you  not  see  that  we  are  made  for  one 
another,  you  and  I?  Without  the  other  each  is  incom 
plete.  You  will  add  to  my  life  just  what  it  needs  to  make 
us  both  supremely  fortunate.  You  are  the  only  woman 
I  ever  met  who  understands — to  whom  it  is  not  necessary 
to  explain.  Think  what  I  can  give  you,  Priscilla."  His 
brow  and  hand  seemed  to  recognize  no  mortal  limit. 
"Think  what  we  could  both  together  accomplish." 

"I  know,  Hugh."  She  did  not  seek  to  deny  the  force  of 
his  burning  language.  The  future  which  it  depicted  was 
irresistible  save  for  one  deplorable  lack.  "But  if  I  do  not 
love  you?"  There  was  melancholy  in  her  tone.  Alas! 
the  roses  hung  lifeless  on  their  stalks.  And  what  had 
caused  them  to  perish  ? 

"How  have  I  changed,  Priscilla?"  he  repeated  insist 
ently. 

Great  wealth — power— good  riddance  to  a  single  life, 
all  these  were  within  her  reach.  But  she  must  encounter 
the  scorn  of  Henry  Sumner.  The  shadow  of  his  disap 
proval  lay  directly  across  her  path.  Why  had  he  inter 
fered  to  blight  her  happiness  ?  What  had  his  vague  insin 
uations  proved  ?  Her  soul  rose  in  its  wrath  but  faltered, 
for  the  essential  truth  stared  her  in  the  face;  murmur  as 
she  would,  he  had  succeeded  in  blighting  it,  and  the  secret 
garden  of  her  love  had  become  a  waste. 

"It  must  be  I  who  have  changed,"  she  said  gently. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  459 

"You  changed?"  Blaisdell  stared  for  a  moment,  then 
enlightened,  as  he  thought,  cried:  "Let  me  implore  you, 
darling,  for  both  our  sakes  not  to  imitate  the  horrible  mis 
take  of  the  women  in  this  community  who  test  their  love  by 
a  thermometer  and,  unless  it  records  fever  heat  at  once, 
stifle  it  out  of  existence.  Many  a  life— two  lives  have  been 
wrecked  in  this  way.  A  woman  who  suspects  that  she 
loves  a  man  will  learn  to  love  him  a  hundredfold  more 

when " 

Priscilla  rose  with  a  little  shiver.  She  was  suddenly  con 
scious  that  she  was  cold.  The  silver  grays  of  the  sunset 
had  become  dark  purples  and  night  was  descending. 
"O  Hugh,  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said. 

"You  will  not  consent?"  he  exclaimed  aghast.  Was  it 
possible  that  he  could  not  prevail? 

"I  cannot.    Not  now;  not  at  any  time,  I  believe." 

Blaisdell  snatched  at  this  semblance  of  doubt.  "Be 
lieve  ?  I  shall  never  take  ' no'  for  an  answer." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  must  go  in  now.  I  do  not  love 
you,  Hugh  dear.  It  would  be  cruel  to  us  both  to  pretend 

that  I  do." 

The  firmness  in  her  tone,  as  if  her  resolution  had  gained 
strength  from  utterance,  struck  Blaisdell  to  the  heart  and 
recalled  his  abhorrent  suspicions. 

"There  is  no  one  else?"  he  queried. 

"No  one." 

The  answer  was  prompt  and  explicit,  but  something  in 
her  expression— was  it  annoyance  or  self -distrust  ?— led 
him  to  add : 

"You  are  sure?" 

It  was  evident  that  Priscilla  disdained  the  repetition,  for 
she  made  him  stand  aside  and  let  her  pass  before  she  re 
plied—replied  with  a  briskness  which  was  an  antidote  to 


400  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

sentiment:   "I  love  no  one,  Hugh.    As  I  told  you,  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  remain  an  old  maid." 

Blaisdell  gave  an  ejaculation  of  disgust  at  the  renewal 
of  this  absurdity;  nevertheless,  as  he  started  to  follow  her, 
he  protested:  "Preposterous  as  that  idea  is,  I  could  bear  it 
better  than  that  you  should  belong  to  some  one  else— who 
ever  he  may  be."  He  emphasized  the  final  words  in  the 
hope  that  she  might  guess  the  unendurable  possibility  which 
he  had  in  mind,  one  which  made  spinsterhood  alluring  by 
comparison. 

But  if  Priscilla  understood,  she  ignored  his  allusion. 
The  consequences  of  her  refusal  were  already  beginning 
to  assert  themselves  and  must  be  met— one  in  particular. 
Looking  back  at  him  she  said:  "I  can't  blame  you  for 
speaking,  Hugh,  but  I  wish  you  had  kept  silent  for  another 
reason.  You  will  appreciate  that  after  what  has  passed 
between  us  I  cannot  possibly  remain  in  your  house.  I 
shall  miss  the  dear  children  horribly,  but  when  I  leave  for 
the  camp  I  shall  not  return.  Even  you  will  agree  that  this 
is  necessary  for  us  both." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WHY  had  Miss  Avery  left  her  brother-in-law's  house  and 
returned  to  her  father  and  step-mother  ?  Boston  had  under 
stood  that  the  arrangement  under  which  she  was  to  take 
the  place  of  a  mother  to  the  late  Mrs.  Blaisdell's  children 
was  to  be  permanent.  What  had  occurred  to  interrupt 
its  continuance?  The  simple  might  believe  themselves 
mistaken  in  having  assumed  that  it  was  to  outlast  the  time 
when  the  bereaved  widower  might  fairly  be  expected  to 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  461 

take  notice  and  find  some  suitable  governess  to  succeed 
her.  There  were  others  who  whispered  that  they  knew 
better — declaring  that  in  the  eyes  of  a  woman  so  su 
perior  as  Miss  Avery  no  other  interest  could  vie  in 
importance  with  the  protection  of  these  motherless  chil 
dren,  and  that  something  startling  must  have  happened  to 
terminate  so  felicitous  a  guardianship.  Had  her  brother- 
in-law  offered  himself?  And  was  her  retirement  to  the 
seclusion  of  her  father's  house  merely  preparatory  to  capit 
ulation?  This  was  their  shrewd  suspicion.  Presumably 
she  had  delayed  announcing  her  engagement  from  delicacy 
in  order  that  the  conventional  two  years  might  elapse. 
Even  Mrs.  Harrison  Chippendale  was  of  opinion  that  m 
the  due  course  of  events  a  marriage  between  them  would 
be  both  logical  and  becoming. 

This  mooted  question  was  but  one  of  the  lesser  ripples 
on  the  surface  of  current  events.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Harrison 
Chippendale's  interest  in  it  would  have  been  languid 
save  for  the  circumstance  that  her  youngest  daughter's 
caprice  brought  the  presumptive  bridegroom  directly 
under  their  eye  shortly  after  the  time  when  Priscilla  left  his 
house.  Where  Georgy  was  concerned  Mrs.  Chippendale 
might  be  said  to  be  clay  in  the  hands  of  the  potter.  Geor- 
giana  and  her  brother  Arthur  were  devoted  cronies,  and 
whatever  the  latter  desired,  his  sister  zealously  abetted. 
Seeking  to  cater  to  his  employer's  social  ambitions  and  thus 
help  to  feather  his  own  nest,  Arthur  had  been  harping  in 
his  mother's  ears  on  the  proposition  of  inviting  Jack  Stod- 
dard  and  his  wife  to  dine.  When  Mrs.  Chippendale  finally 
assented  she  was  plunged  in  dejection  over  the  question 
whom  to  invite  to  meet  them.  To  ask  them  alone  would 
be  no  solution,  but  an  insult — so  she  explained.  Who 
should  it  be,  seeing  that  they  knew  nobody  and  nobody 


462  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

knew  them  ?  Arthur  in  dudgeon  threatened  to  join  forces 
with  Georgy  and  ask  them  to  dine  at  the  club  instead, 
whereat  his  mother  showed  signs  of  weeping;  but  Geor- 
giana  came  to  the  relief  of  the  situation  by  the  proposal, 
"Why  not  invite  Mr.  Blaisdell  and  Miss  Avery?"  Then 
in  reproof  of  her  mother's  consternation  she  added:  "He 
is  beginning  to  go  everywhere.  I  thought  him  most  agree 
able  the  day  I  went  to  see  him  at  his  office." 

"Yes,  I  remember;  that  harum-scarum  expedition!" 
murmured  Mrs.  Chippendale.  Her  children  were  contin 
ually  disappointing  her  by  strange  unexpected  develop 
ments  instead  of  following  the  barnyard  treadmill  of  pro 
priety.  It  was  no  girl's  fault  that  she  remained  single — 
though  three  unmarried  daughters  stuck  in  her  maternal 
crop;  but  that  one  of  them  should  stray  outside  the  coop 
as  a  so-called  Christian  Science  healer  had  been  a  bewil 
dering  experience.  And  lately  both  Arthur  and  Georgy 
had  been  revealing  symptoms  of  insubordination.  From 
the  point  of  view  of  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  Chauncey 
was  certainly  the  most  satisfactory  of  her  children.  She 
flattered  herself  that  he  had  much  of  the  sound  conserva 
tive  sense  of  the  Floyds.  She  proceeded  to  point  out  that 
Mr.  Blaisdell  had  never  been  bidden  to  one  of  Beatrice's 
dinner  parties.  It  was  one  thing  to  ask  Jack  Stoddard  out 
of  kindness,  and  another  to  show  a  social  attention  'to 
so  conspicuous  an  individual. 

At  this  Arthur  took  up  the  cudgels  in  support  of  his 
sister's  astute  suggestion.  What  a  happy  idea!  In  the 
eyes  of  Jack  Stoddard,  Mr.  Blaisdell  was  a  social  star  of  the 
first  magnitude,  and  to  be  one  of  the  same  company  at 
dinner  at  the  mahogany  of  a  Chippendale  would  in  his  own 
estimation  exalt  him  to  the  zenith  of  fashionable  contem 
plation  from  which  he  could  look  down  patronizingly  on 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  463 

the  climbing  myriads.    Arthur  met  his  mother's  objection 
with  the  startling  statement: 

"Chauncey's  a  bloated  bondholder;  he  can  pick  and 
choose.  The  rest  of  us  are  paupers,  so  we  can't  afford  to 
be  too  particular." 

" Paupers?"  ejaculated  his  mother.  "What  do  you 
mean,  Arthur?"  When  she  understood  their  figures  of 
speech  at  all,  she  was  never  confident  that  her  children 
were  not  quizzing  her.  And  yet  Arthur  was  supposed 
to  have  literary  taste.  Seeing  that  the  North  Shore  prop 
erty  had  increased  so  much  in  value  and  that  they  were 
reestablished  suitably  in  town,  his  cynicism,  if  the  words 
were  to  be  interpreted  at  their  face  value,  was  unintelligible 
and  invidious. 

"Comparatively  speaking,  he  means,  mama,"  mur 
mured  Georgiana,  who  was  a  proud  young  person  in  her 
way. 

But  Arthur  was  eager  to  point  a  moral.  "  All  we  possess 
in  the  world  is  scarcely  enough  to  supply  Mr.  Blaisdell 
with  breakfast  food,"  he  asserted.  "He  could  swallow  us 
at  a  gulp.  And  in  my  opinion  he  wouldn't  have  to  strain 
very  hard  to  make  a  square  meal  of  our  plutocratic 
Chauncey." 

His  mother  set  this  down  to  hyperbole,  as  she  did  most 
of  his  statements.  But  Mr.  BlaisdelPs  enormous  wealth 
appeared  to  be  unquestionable.  To  one  of  her  own 
fashionable  friends  who  had  casually  described  a  charity, 
he  had  handed  a  cheque  for  ten  thousand  dollars  on  the 
spot.  Such  off-hand  munificence  savored  of  the  fabu 
lous.  Since  both  her  younger  children  were  bent  on 
asking  him  to  dinner,  the  easiest  way  was  to  submit — 
get  it  over  and  done  with.  "If  your  father  has  no  objec 
tion,  I  will  ask  them,"  she  finally  said.  "Every  one  con- 


464  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

siders  Miss  Avery  charming,  and  if,  as  people  say,  he  is 
certain  to  marry  her,  I  shall  be  glad  I  paid  them  the  atten 
tion." 

What  Mr.  Chippendale  believed  to  be  his  own  congenital 
readiness  to  adopt  a  progressive  point  of  view  came  to 
Georgy's  support  when  this  matter  was  broached  to  him. 
Blaisdell?  The  man  who  had  bought  his  house?  His 
first  impulse  was  repugnant.  He  listened  gravely,  finger 
ing  his  goatee,  while  his  wife  informed  him  that  the  children 
had  set  their  hearts  on  it,  and  made  as  plausible  a  case  as 
she  could  out  of  the  magnate's  glittering  benefactions  and 
down-town  prominence.  But  her  husband's  frown  ree'n- 
forced  her  own  antipathy,  and  she  reminded  him  that 
Chauncey  still  continued  to  draw  the  social  line  on  the 
individual  in  question. 

Nothing  could  illustrate  the  peculiarities  of  the  Chip 
pendale  temperament  more  significantly  than  the  result  of 
this  reminder.  Mr.  Chippendale  mused  for  a  little.  He 
was  egregiously  proud  of  his  eldest  son's  success,  and  yet 
he  felt  the  responsibility  of  being  watchful  on  Chauncey's 
behalf.  The  aim  of  his  own  life  had  been  to  avoid  the  coils 
of  hide-bound  conservatism.  Was  Chauncey  sufficiently 
heedful  of  this  vital  necessity?  This  newcomer,  Blais 
dell,  was  not  to  the  manner  born;  his  methods  were  indis 
putably  open  to  criticism  on  the  score  of — er — taste,  at  any 
rate;  but  taking  everything  into  consideration  (and  here 
Mr.  Chippendale  congratulated  himself  on  having  as  an 
elderly  man  one  eye  open  when  he  was  supposed  by 
the  younger  generation  to  be  asleep),  had  not  Blaisdell  so 
far  won  his  social  spurs  as  to  make  it  incumbent  on  him 
self  as  a  citizen  of  Boston — the  Boston  which  counts — to 
let  down  the  bars?  He  was  the  social  head  of  the  family; 
such  an  act  on  his  part  would  be  a  hint  to  Chauncey  not  to 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  465 

forget  that  the  world  was  moving.  His  eldest  son  was 
unquestionably  wide-awake  where  money  making  was  con 
cerned,  but  perhaps  he  needed  to  be  reminded  now  and 
then  that  sympathy  with  well-behaved  democracy  is  the 
watchword  of  republican  institutions. 

Thus  communing  with  himself,  Mr.  Chippendale  re 
leased  his  goatee  and  assented.  When  the  invitations  were 
issued  Blaisdell  sent  an  acceptance,  but  Priscilla  pleaded 
a  previous  engagement.  Having  committed  herself  to  the 
entertainment,  Mrs.  Chippendale  decided  to  enlarge  its 
scope.  Jack  Stoddard  and  his  wife  were  obscured  and 
thrust  into  the  background  by  a  smart  company  which  in 
cluded  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Paul  Dudley  and  the  Staunton 
Townsends.  Partly  from  curiosity,  but  mainly  from  the 
desire  to  do  a  distasteful  thing  handsomely,  Mr.  Chippen 
dale,  after  the  ladies  had  retired,  invited  Blaisdell  to  occupy 
the  seat  next  him,  and  when  the  family  Madeira  was 
passed  and  tasted,  sought  to  draw  him  out  on  the  issues  of 
the  day.  Blaisdell  happened  to  have  at  his  tongue's  end 
the  results  of  a  recent  investigation  concerning  the  trans 
mission  of  malaria — that  bugbear  of  Bostonians — by 
which  it  appeared  that  the  germ  is  carried  by  mosquitoes. 
The  other  men  hung  on  his  graphic  account  of  the  experi 
ments  conducted,  part  of  the  expense  of  which  had  been 
borne  by  him. 

"  A  remarkably  well-informed  man;  I  am  not  surprised 
at  his  success,"  whispered  Mr.  Chippendale  to  Paul  Dud 
ley  as  they  walked  together  toward  the  drawing-room. 
As  for  the  loquacious  Jack  Stoddard,  he  was  overawed,  hyp 
notized  into  ornamental  silence  for  once  in  his  life,  so 
Arthur  put  it,  by  the  dazzling  company  in  which  he  fig 
ured.  Arthur  calculated  that  the  success  of  the  entertain 
ment  ought  to  serve  as  an  entering  wedge  to  a  junior  part- 


466  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

nership  for  himself.  And  not  only  he  but  Georgiana  was 
satisfied,  but  for  a  different  reason;  Blaisdell  had  made 
a  bee-line  after  dinner  for  the  small  sofa  where  she  was 
sitting  and  resumed  the  threads  of  conversation  at  the  very 
point  where  she  had  dropped  them  on  leaving  his  office. 

A  few  months  subsequent  to  this  dinner  party  the  entire 
Chippendale  connection  was  plunged  into  mourning. 
Baxter  Chippendale  was  dead;  carried  off  in  three  days  by 
pneumonia,  that  dread  foe  of  the  elderly.  On  State  Street, 
which  heard  the  news  early  in  the  forenoon,  busy  men 
paused  for  a  moment  to  wonder  how  much  the  old  gentle 
man  would  prove  to  be  worth  and  to  whom  he  had  left  his 
money.  Every  real  estate  broker  in  Boston  said  to  himself 
that  the  house  on  Park  Street  would  at  last  be  for  sale. 
Death  had  triumphed  over  individual  obstruction  to  the 
march  of  progress.  Some  of  them  did  not  wait  for  the 
funeral  to  be  over  before  ringing  up  customers  on  the  tele 
phone  and  privately  calling  attention  to  the  opportunity. 

It  was  recognized  that  his  death  had  removed  another  of 
the  few  survivors  of  the  old  school.  The  following  at 
Langdon,  Chippendale  &  Company's  (as  the  firm  was 
now  styled)  and  those  who  frequented  the  few  other  places 
where  the  deceased  was  accustomed  to  drop  in  with  the 
regularity  of  clock-work,  recalled  anecdotes  bearing  on  his 
idiosyncrasies — notably  his  downright  tendency  to  dis 
agree  with  his  brother  Harrison,  and  his  surreptitious 
habit  of  keeping  a  tiny  piece  of  tobacco  under  his  tongue. 
The  Republican  party  had  lost  one  of  the  most  reliable 
contributors  to  its  campaign  fund;  Baxter  Chippendale, 
unlike  some  of  its  younger  constituents,  took  everything  on 
trust  and  never  asked  questions.  Of  late  years  it  had  been 
a  sufficient  reason  for  him  that  his  brother  was  a  Mug 
wump  to  increase  the  size  of  his  subscription.  Surprise 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  467 

was  expressed  at  his  demise  by  those  in  the  way  of  meeting 
him,  for  they  had  not  failed  to  notice  a  recent  change  in 
his  personal  appearance — a  decided  sprucing  up  of  his 
wardrobe.  They  argued  that  he  had  passed  the  danger 
point  of  old  age  and  was  good  for  another  seven  years — 
might  very  likely  live  to  over  ninety  and  disappoint  his 
logical  heirs. 

Baxter's  taking  off  was  the  first  break  in  the  family  circle 
which  had  occurred  for  years,  and  it  came  as  a  great 
shock  to  the  older  generation.  The  funeral  took  place  at 
King's  Chapel.  His  two  sisters  and  brother  as  chief 
mourners  found  themselves  in  the  tall  box-like  square  pew 
under  -the  pulpit  where  the  deceased  had  worshipped  for 
a  generation.  Leading  the  way  down  the  aisle,  Kfarrison 
Chippendale  realized  with  distress  as  he  reached  the  door 
that  the  narrow  sidewalk  was  crowded  with  sight-seers. 
He  became  conscious,  too,  of  the  vicinity  of  the  new  huge 
department  store  which  towered  across  the  way,  inviting 
an  obstruction  of  traffic.  The  incidents  savored  to  him  of 
personal  affront;  he  frowned  and  drew  himself  up.  The 
crowd  peered,  jostled  and  pressed  upon  him  despite  the 
efforts  of  ushers  to  preserve  a  path.  Where  were  the 
police?  How  different  from  the  dignified  quiet  of  many 
well-remembered  visits  to  this  historic  sanctuary  before  his 
wife  had  ceased  to  be  a  Unitarian.  There  was  a  moment's 
delay  in  the  arrival  of  the  carriage  reserved  for  him,  and, 
as  it  halted  before  the  porch,  one  of  the  horses  reared. 
Mr.  Chippendale  slipped  on  the  curb-stone  and  would 
have  fallen  into  the  gutter  but  for  Chauncey's  timely  suc 
cor.  The  latter  surmised  that  his  father  was  unmanned 
by  his  uncle's  death.  Or  was  this  sudden  lack  of  coordi 
nation  between  the  legs  and  brain  a  sign  that  his  dear  old 
governor  was  beginning  to  break  up  ?  Chauncey  decided 


468  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

to  take  the  vacant  seat  in  the  carriage  opposite  to  his  father 
and  mother.  Harrison  Chippendale  had  proposed,  on  the 
score  of  sentiment,  that  his  two  sisters  and  he  should  drive 
out  to  Mt.  Auburn  together,  but  Miss  Georgiana  had  de 
clared  that  she  was  unwilling  to  trust  herself  to  any  other 
coachman  and  horses  but  her  own,  and  there  were  only 
two  seats  in  her  brougham.  She  had  only  just  acquired 
confidence  in  the  mate  bought  to  replace  the  fat  horse 
which  had  died. 

When  all  was  over  the  father  and  son  drove  back  to 
gether  from  the  cemetery.  Mr.  Chippendale  had  insisted 
on  remaining  to  make  sure  that  the  family  tomb  was  prop 
erly  closed,  though  the  three  nephews  begged  him  to  dele 
gate  that  duty  to  them  and  return  with  his  wife.  It  was  the 
last  sad  tribute  he  could  pay  the  dead  and,  after  all,  was  he 
not  nearer  to  Baxter  than  the  next  generation  could  pos 
sibly  be  ?  Until  they  passed  the  Mt.  Auburn  gates  there 
was  silence;  presently  Mr.  Chippendale  said: 

"Remember,  Chauncey,  when  my  turn  comes,  I  am  to 
be  cremated.  I  wish  what  remains  of  me  to  be  consumed 
by  clean  fire." 

"Yes,  father." 

After  another  brief  silence,  Mr.  Chippendale  said: 
"Your  Uncle  Baxter  was  a  man  of  spotless  commercial 
integrity,  and  eminently  sagacious.  We  were  not— er— in 
accord  on  minor  points,  but  underneath  the  surface 
each  had  an  abiding  affection  for  the  other."  He  wiped 
his  eyes  gently  as  he  spoke.  "Baxter  was  a  character  in 
his  way,  and  like  most  characters,  he  had  a  forcible  way 
of  stating  what  he  believed  to  be  true.  But  his  bark  was 
always  worse  than  his  bite." 

Chauncey  made  no  immediate  response  to  this  fraternal 
estimate.  If  he  reflected  that  his  father  was  idealizing 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  469 

a  little,  he  felt  eulogy  to  be  becoming  at  this  moment.  His 
Uncle  Baxter  had  always  seemed  to  him,  ever  since  he 
could  remember,  what  he  might  have  termed  a  queer  old 
guy.  But  he  must  have  been  shrewd  in  his  time — worthy 
of  reverence;  otherwise  how  had  he  managed  to  lay  up  the 
fortune  attributed  to  him?  Chauncey's  curiosity  in  regard 
to  this  matter  led  him  to  say — but  deprecatingly,  as  if  he 
did  not  wish  to  pry  into  the  dead  man's  box  prematurely: 
"He  must  have  been  a  wonder  in  his  day.  General  Lang- 
don  used  to  chaff  him  on  being  one  of  the  richest  men  in 
Boston;  he  'rather  seemed  to  enjoy  it — protested,  but 
never  denied  it.  Have  you  any  idea,  father,  what  dis 
position  he  has  made  of  his  property?" 

Mr.  Chippendale  shook  his  head.  "Not  the  remotest. 
Your  uncle  was  a  secretive  man  in  many  ways;  he  never 
made  a  confidant  of  me  in  money  matters.  On  the  con 
trary,  he  pretended  to  believe  that  I  was  extravagant  be 
cause  I  had  large  expenses  and  held  that  the  best  contribu 
tion  a  well-to-do  man  could  make  to  his  family  and  society 
was  to  keep  abreast  of  the  times.  '  Harrison,'  I  have  heard 
him  say,  'you're  a  spendthrift.  If  you're  not  careful,  you'll 
land  in  the  poor-house.'  He  never  liked  my  detecting, 
years  ago,  that  he  chewed  tobacco  in  secret,  and  reproving 
him  for  it.  He  always  stuck  to  it  that  he  didn't."  Mr. 
Chippendale  sighed.  "Well,  he's  in  Mt.  Auburn — and 
we're  not  destitute  yet.  Poor  Baxter!  If  he  has  left  you 
children  a  comfortable  slice  of  this  world's  goods,  I  fancy 
it  will  not  come  amiss  in  this  age  of  extravagance,  though 
personally  I  fear  that  our  growing  habits  of  luxury  are 
tending  to  hamper  the  spiritual  growth  of  the  new  gener 
ation."  The  next  moment,  as  if  his  homily  had  led  him  to 
make  a  survey  of  the  entire  family,  he  added : 

"By  the  way,  what  is  this  mention  I  see  in  the  morning 


470  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

paper  of  Henry  as  a  possible  nomination  for  Mayor  of 
Boston  on  the  Citizens'  ticket?" 

"The  people  responsible  for  that  movement  are  talking 
of  him,  I  believe.  They  can't  get  any  one  else  to  run." 

Mr.  Chippendale  disregarded  this  lack  of  enthusiasm. 
Musing,  he  answered  with  kindling  eye:  "Stranger  things 
have  happened.  Besides,  you  remember,  one  of  my  ances 
tors  was  a  mayor  of  Boston." 

"Boston  was  a  village  then,  now  it's  a  wicked  metrop 
olis.  The  Citizens'  candidate  has  no  more  chance  of  win 
ning  this  year  than  the  traditional  snowball  in—."  But, 
realizing  that  his  father  could  not  be  familiar  with  the 
simile,  Chauncey  did  not  complete  it,  but  went  on  to  say: 
"They've  offered  the  nomination  to  several  people,  I 
understand.  They  put  it  up  to  General  Langdon  with 
honeyed  words  on  a  silver  salver;  but  he  pleaded  ill-health 
and  gray  hairs.  'They  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly 
crown,  which  he  did  thrice  refuse.'  Learned  that  in 
English  17,  father.  I  can't  imagine  wishing  to  be  mayor 
if  one  were  elected.  It's  the  most  difficult  office  in  the  gift 
of  the  people  with  a  big  P.  Kicks  and  curses  from  every 
one  with  an  axe  to  grind,  if  you're  economical  and  try  to 
make  a  record.  Otherwise,  you're  a  rascal." 

"But  some  one  must  be  mayor,  and  public  spirit  in 
Boston  can't  be  dead."  Mr.  Chippendale  turned  inquir 
ingly  toward  his  son  and  his  lip  trembled.  "I'm  proud 
that  I  have  a  nephew  ready  to  come  forward  and  throw 
himself  into  the  breach." 

Chauncey  ignored  this  indirect  reflection  on  himself. 
He  was  anxious  to  make  plain  that  his  father  took  what  he 
regarded  as  a  visionary  view  of  the  situation.  "He's  a 
dead  cock  in  the  pit  before  he  starts.  Henry  will  get  the 
support  of  the  Back  Bay  and  a  complimentary  vote  in 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  471 

Dorchester  and  Jamaica  Plain;  all  the  otner  wards  will 
plunk  on  one  of  the  regular  party  candidates.  Of  course, 
father,"  he  continued,  warned  by  the  tapping  of  Mr. 
Chippendale's  foot  that  these  utilitarian  morals  were 
deemed  deplorable,  "I  believe,  as  you  do,  theoretically,  in 
non-partisan  politics  in  municipal  affairs;  but  they're  not 
practical;  and,  according  to  the  masses,  when  the  candi 
date  comes  from  the  Back  Bay,  they're  not  democratic. 
Every  now  and  then  when  things  get  too  bad — when  the 
thieves  become  too  bold — there's  a  reaction;  the  public 
gets  busy  and  some  Republican  is  elected.  As  I  told  you, 
father,  Boston  isn't  what  it  used  to  be;  it's  a  full-fledged, 
wicked  city.  Take  the  man  with  the  most  axes  to  grind, 
the  most  favors  of  one  sort  or  another  to  ask  from  a  city 
government — your  friend  Blaisdell,  f or  instance — I  wouldn't 
care  to  bet  my  bottom  dollar  that  he  wouldn't  knife 
Henry  in  the  back  if  there  were  any  chance  of  his  elec 
tion."  Then  noticing  that  they  were  passing  through  Har 
vard  Square  within  sight  of  the  college  yard  and  buildings, 
he  added:  "Henry  is  all  right — public-spirited,  as  you 
say — but  he's  the  same  old  sixpence  at  heart  as  he  was 
fifteen  years  ago  when  we  were  all  out  here  together.  What 
makes  me  sore  at  the  moment  is  that  he  wore  a  pot  hat 
with  his  frock  coat  at  the  funeral.  Did  you  notice  that? 
Couldn't  find  his  silk  hat,  he  told  me.  Only  Frenchmen 
indulge  in  that  get-up.  I  will  say  for  him  that  he  recog 
nized  that  he  wasn't  properly  dressed.  And,  by  the  way, 
I  wonder  why  his  pretty  stenographer  took  it  into  her 
head  to  come  to  the  cemetery;  and  in  black,  too.  I'm 
sure  I  recognized  her.  She  used  to  do  work  for  Uncle 
Baxter  the  last  year  or  two  of  his  life." 

There  was  so  much  in  these  animadversions  which  he 
desired  to  answer  that  Mr.  Chippendale  was  dumbfounded 


472  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

and  nearly  held  his  peace.  "  Mr.  Blaisdell  is  not  my  friend, 
Chauncey,"  he  felt  constrained  to  state.  "I  asked  him  to 
dine— er— because  I  thought— er— the  time  had  come." 

"That's  all  right,  father,"  said  Chauncey  good  hu- 
moredly. 

Vindicated  on  this  point,  Mr.  Chippendale  felt  encour 
aged  to  add:  "I  still  think  that  Henry  has  done  remark 
ably  well— quite  sustained  the  traditions  of  our  family  for 
public  spirit  and  conscientiousness — er — in  spite  of  an 
occasional  lack  of  tact.  As  for  the  general  tenor  of  your 
observations,  they  tend  to  confirm  my  own  belief  that  both 
in  state  and  national  politics  we  are  steadily  going  back 
ward." 

This  speech  happened  to  strike  an  answering  chord  in 
Chauncey's  bosom.  "  Those  fellows  in  Congress,"  he 
responded,  "are  doing  their  best  to  get  us  into  a  war  with 
Spain.  No  sooner  does  the  business  of  the  country  seem 
to  be  on  a  firm  footing  when  some  politician  throws  mud  at 
a  foreign  power  and  unsettles  credit."  Chauncey  spoke 
feelingly  and  as  if  the  reminder  worried  him. 

But  Mr.  Chippendale  was  off  on  another  tack.  "Ah, 
those  pitiful  reconcentrados — horrible!  Such  an  abom 
ination  ought  to  be  stopped.  But  I  have  always  said  that 
I  hope  not  to  live  to  see  another  war.  As  you  wisely 
remark,  the  politicians  of  both  parties,"  he  added,  nod- 
ding  his  head,  "are  fully  capable  of  dragging  us  into  one." 
Father  and  son  had  reached  a  comparative  unanimity  of 
opinion,  though  from  a  different  angle. 

During  the  forenoon  of  the  following  day,  Baxter  Chip 
pendale's  box  at  the  Safe  Deposit  Vaults  was  opened  in 
the  presence  of  Mr.  Chippendale  and  Chauncey  and  of 
Henry  Sumner,  who  had  been  sent  for  by  the  two  others. 
When  no  will  was  found  among  the  papers  in  evidence  en 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  473 

top,  it  looked  for  a  short  time  as  though  he  might  have  died 
intestate.  Further  search  revealed  under  the  packets  of 
securities  a  file  of  old  documents  among  which  was  found 
an  uncancelled  will  bearing  date  twenty  years  back.  Chaun- 
cey's  impulse  was  to  peruse  the  contents  on  the  spot,  but 
his  father  resented  this  lack  of  ceremony. 

"Your  Aunt  Georgiana  will  expect  to  be  present  at  the 
reading  of  the  will,"  he  stated. 

Accordingly  the  family  met  an  hour  later  at  Miss 
Chippendale's  house  on  Beacon  Hill,  where  Harrison,  as 
its  head,  read  aloud  the  terms  of  the  instrument  in  the 
large  drawing-room.  These  were  simple  and  normal. 
Remembrances  of  five  thousand  dollars  apiece  were  given 
to  his  brother  and  two  sisters;  bequests  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  apiece  were  made  to  the  Harvard  Medical 
School  and  the  Sailors  Snug  Harbor;  and  after  the  payment 
in  full  of  these  legacies,  all  the  rest  and  remainder  of  his 
estate  was  divided  among  his  nephews  and  nieces,  share 
and  share  alike.  His  legal  adviser — an  elderly  lawyer  who 
had  since  died — was  appointed  the  executor. 

For  a  moment  after  Mr.  Chippendale  resumed  his  seat 
no  one  spoke.  Uncle  Baxter's  intentions  sounded  gener 
ous;  at  the  same  time  the  charitable  bequests  were  so  large 
as  to  leave  room  for  doubt  whether  the  residuary  clause 
was  more  than  a  hollow  gift.  Was  he  not  capable  of  play 
ing  just  such  a  grim  joke  on  his  expectant  heirs-at-law  ? 
If  this  suspicion  kept  the  older  generation  tongue-tied, 
Chauncey  was  able  to  be  reassuring.  While  rummaging 
the  contents  of  the  safe  deposit  box,  his  sharp  eyes  had 
made  a  sufficiently  shrewd  inventory  to  justify  the  convic 
tion  that  the  residue,  after  paying  the  Harvard  Medical 
School  and  the  Sailors  Snug  Harbor,  would  be  very  sub 
stantial — his  own  portion  enough  to  relieve  the  straightened 


474  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

condition  of  his  finances  and  enable  him  to  purchase  more 
shares  of  Electric  Coke.  If  Uncle  Baxter  had  purposed 
twenty  years  before  to  play  a  joke  on  the  family,  he  had 
merely  hoodwinked  himself,  so  greatly  had  everything  he 
owned  increased  in  value.  There  were  eight  to  divide 
among — seven  besides  himself — and,  having  done  the 
arithmetic,  Chauncey,  as  spokesman  for  the  residuary 
legatees,  said  aloud : 

"  That's  very  generous  of  Uncle  Baxter.  If  I'm  not  mis 
taken,  it  will  mean — er — quite  a  respectable  sum  for  each 
of  the  nephews  and  nieces."  As  he  spoke  he  glanced 
round  the  room  so  as  to  serve  congratulatory  notice  of  the 
fact  on  those  who  were  present— two  of  his  sisters,  Henry, 
and  one  of  the  Sumner  girls. 

"How  much?"  inquired  Miss  Georgiana  bluntly,  rub 
bing  her  nose. 

"From  the  hasty  examination  which  we  made  while 
searching  for  the  will,  I  should  expect  it  to  be  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  three  hundred  thousand  apiece." 

It  was  Miss  Georgiana's  turn  to  do  a  mental  sum. 
"Mercy,"  she  ejaculated,  "was  Baxter  a  millionaire? 
That  means  nearly  three  millions."  She  seemed  to  be  a 
little  disconcerted  by  the  amount,  which  argued  that  her 
brother  had  got  the  better  of  her  in  their  life-long  contest. 
"Well,  he  nearly  starved  his  servants,"  she  murmured 
under  her  breath. 

"Baxter  was  eminently  sagacious — always  a  sound 
investor."  Such  was  Harrison's  tribute. 

"What  a  stupendous  sum  of  money,"  said  Mrs.  Sumner 
with  gentle  amazement.  But,  though  she  sighed,  she  rap 
idly  adjusted  her  mind's  eye  to  the  advantages  of  a 
larger  income.  She  cared  nothing  for  money  in  the  ab 
stract;  but  she  had  been  conscious  for  the  last  fifteen  years 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  475 

that  her  purse  did  not  carry  quite  money  enough  to  go 
round.  Each  one  of  her  offspring  would  be  happier  and 
better  equipped  for  successful  endeavor  by  becoming  well 
to  do.  The  Patons  were  just  a  little  pinched;  and  now, 
perhaps,  Henry  would  feel  more  free  to  marry.  Mrs. 
Sumner  sighed  again.  Her  children  seemed  fated  in  the 
natural  order  of  events  to  prove  dripping  pans;  and  yet, 
as  they  were  earnest  souls,  why  was  not  this  the  working 
of  a  wise  Providence  ? 

Her  brother  Harrison  interrupted  this  reverie  only  to 
chime  in  with  it.  "Well,  Henry,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand 
on  his  nephew's  shoulder,  "I  am  glad  that  your  uncle  has 
remembered  you  so  handsomely.  You  have  made  what 
may  be  called  an  uphill  fight — er — financially,  and  I  con 
gratulate  you." 

"It  won't  be  any  too  much  for  him  if  he's  to  be  the  next 
Mayor  of  Boston." 

This  remark  proceeded  from  Miss  Georgiana,  who, 
under  cover  of  her  peacock  feather  fan,  had  appeared  to 
be  absorbed  in  watching  her  elderly  butler  pass  a  silver 
tray  on  which  were  cake  and  a  decanter  of  sherry.  Why 
had  she  not  been  notified  the  day  before  so  that  she  might 
provide  a  more  bountiful  collation  ? 

"Is  it  true,  Henry,  that  you  have  been  asked  to  run?" 
asked  Mr.  Chippendale.  "I  heartily  approve  of  your 
public  spirit.  Even  if  the  chances  of  election  are  slight — 
as  I  fear  they  may  be — er — you  are  certainly  a  credit  to 
the  family." 

"Who  says  he  won't  be  elected?  What  do  you  know 
about  it,  anyway,  Harrison?" 

Mr.  Chippendale  had  gone  out  of  his  way  to  sing  his 
nephew's  praises  in  the  presence  of  the  family  circle,  and 
was  inwardly  congratulating  himself  on  the  fulsome  Ian- 


476  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

guage  which  he  had  employed  when  this  harsh  rejoinder 
grated  on  his  ears. 

"  I  was  merely  arguing  on  general  principles,  Georgiana," 
he  replied  with  dignified  meekness.  "What  chance  has  a 
gentleman  to  please  the  ears  of  groundlings?" 

Miss  Georgiana  gave  a  snort.  "He  would  have  a 
better  chance,  I  agree,  if  his  name  were  Fitzpatrick  or 
McCarthy." 

"I  hoped  they  would  select  some  one  outside  the  Back 
Bay;  I  recognize  my  limitations,"  said  Henry.  "But  I 
shall  do  my  best  to  win,"  he  added,  with  so  electrifying 
a  lift  of  his  head  that  Chauncey  was  prompted  to  ask : 

"What  are  the  odds ?  I'll  bet  you  six  to  one  that  you're 
not  elected;  and,  as  father  says,  I'm  merely  arguing  on 
general  principles." 

Chauncey's  methods  were  well  known,  and  this  was 
recognized  to  be  chiefly  banter  which  did  not  require  a  spe 
cific  response.  The  cousins  gazed  at  each  other  with 
mutual  forbearance. 

"I  hope  you'll  vote  for  me,  Chauncey.  Every  vote  will 
count." 

"As  often  as  I'm  allowed.  Moreover,  I'll  contribute 
liberally  to  your  campaign  fund.  I  impose  only  one  con 
dition." 

As  Chauncey  paused  and  did  not  continue,  Henry  said : 

"Name  it." 

"That  you  send  round  that  pretty  stenographer  of 
yours  to  get  the  cheque." 

"Miss  Brackett?  Unfortunately  she  left  my  employ 
about  four  months  ago." 

"How  very  careless  of  you!  She  was  at  the  funeral  yes 
terday — at  the  cemetery." 

Henry  did  not  conceal  his  surprise.    "  She  has  done  work 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  477 

for  Uncle  Baxter,  as  I  think  I  told  you,  and  prooably  wished 
to  show  appreciation  of  his  kindness.  I  have  lost  sight  of 
her.  I  understood  when  she  left  my  office  that  it  was  to 
take  a  more  advantageous  position  in  New  York." 

Chauncey  did  not  impugn  this  statement  further  than 
to  nod  his  head  gaily  and  remark,  "You  must  find  her. 
I  still  insist  on  my  condition." 

There  were  various  details  to  be  settled  before  the  family 
conclave  separated.  It  was  agreed  that  Chauncey  and 
Henry  should  be  appointed  administrators  in  place  of  the 
deceased  executor. 

"There  may,  of  course,  be  debts — obligations  of  which 
we  know  nothing,"  Chauncey  saw  fit  to  state  by  way  of 
caution;  but  the  cheerful  expression  of  his  countenance 
belied  his  presumption. 

"Debts?"  exclaimed  Miss  Georgiana.  "Baxter  could 
not  brook  them.  He  had  his  faults,  but  his  motto  was  '  pay 
as  you  go.'  He  invariably  paid  every  bill  before  the  tenth 
of  the  month,  like  most  of  the  Chippendales."  As  she 
spoke,  the  old  lady  directed  a  meaning  glance  at  her  sur 
viving  brother  as  if  to  question  whether  he  had  invariably 
lived  up  to  this  exemplary  family  tradition. 

Chauncey's  rising  spirits  prompted  him  to  take  up  the 
cudgels  in  behalf  of  his  father,  and  throw  prudence  to  the 
winds.  "Ours  is  the  wicked  branch  of  the  family,"  he 
asserted  gleefully.  "Our  motto  is  order  anything  you 
need  and  pay  for  it  when  you  get  ready." 

Mr.  Chippendale  hastened  to  deprecate  this  rash  utter 
ance  saying:  "Don't  give  your  aunt  an  exaggerated  im 
pression  of — er — our  foibles."  His  son's  independence 
reminded  him  of  his  own,  but  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
flying  in  the  face  of  Providence.  "I  do  not  owe  any  man 
a  penny  in  the  world,  Georgiana,"  he  said  proudly. 


478  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

But  Miss  Georgiana  disregarded  this  assurance,  intent 
on  rebuking  her  nephew.  "The  standards  of  the  stock 
broker  are  happily  not  the  standards  of  this  community," 
she  said,  agitating  her  peacock  feather  fan. 

Chauncey  could  not  resist,  even  at  the  risk  of  disinheri 
tance,  a  sly  allusion  to  her  own  talent  for  speculation.  "I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  certificate  of  Electric  Coke  in  Uncle 
Baxter's  box,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "So  you  haven't  a 
monopoly  of  all  the  good  things,  Aunt  Georgiana." 

Miss  Chippendale  seemed  a  little  dismayed  at  the  intel 
ligence.  "Well,  it  only  proves  that  Electric  Coke  is  a  gilt- 
edged  investment." 

"  Of  course  it  is." 

"Is  it  going  higher,  Chauncey?"  she  whispered. 

"I'll  give  you  eleven  hundred  for  all  of  yours." 

His  aunt  shook  her  head.  "  Then  it's  going  up.  Baxtei 
never  sold  anything;  and  he  was  right." 

Chauncey  turned  from  this  private  dialogue  to  say 
aloud  for  the  edification  of  all  concerned:  "Talking  of 
city  politics,  I  heard  Mr.  Blaisdell  say  the  other  day  that 
twenty-five  years  hence  Puritan  Boston  will  be  a  Roman 
Catholic  city.  What  chance  has  a  Citizens'  candidate 
against  statistics?" 

While  the  family  circle  was  weighing  this  prophecy, 
Chauncey  took  his  departure.  As  he  reached  the  door  he 
heard  his  aunt  declare,  "One  comfort  is  I  shall  be  dead." 
He  returned  to  State  Street  in  excellent  spirits.  He  had 
deliberately  made  a  very  conservative  estimate  of  his 
uncle's  wealth.  If  his  eyes  had  not  deceived  him,  and  no 
liabilities  existed,  he  had  little  doubt  that  the  share  of  each 
nephew  and  niece  would  be  nearer  half  a  million  than  the 
three  hundred  thousand  dollars  he  had  predicted.  This 
sum  would  tide  him  over  the  present  stringency  in  his 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  479 

affairs,  even  if  the  disturbing  flamboyant  speeches  of  the 
politicians  of  the  country  should  involve  the  country  in 
a  war  with  Spain.  The  important  thing  was  that  the 
estate  should  ^be  settled  as  rapidly  as  possible.  There 
must  be  no  delay  in  taking  the  necessary  legal  steps. 

Indeed,  Chauncey  was  so  much  set  up  by  his  inheritance 
that  he  made  another  purchase  of  Electric  Coke  on  the 
strength  of  it  which  caused  a  new  quotation — 1,125 — for 
the  stock.  It  was  good  collateral.  He  would  borrow  on 
it  at  the  bank,  and  pay  off  the  loan  when  the  residue  was 
divided.  Moreover,  he  counted  on  securing  eventually 
the  shares  which  stood  in  his  uncle's  name.  And  if  the 
question  of  corporate  control  arose,  was  it  not  reasonable 
to  assume  that  whatever  his  Aunt  Georgiana's  prejudices 
concerning  stock-brokers,  she  would  be  likely  to  prefer 
him  to  the  omniverous  Blaisdell  ? 

Chauncey  had  been  obliged  to  swallow  the  affront  of  the 
purchase  of  the  Massasoit  bank.  He  had  finally  handed 
over  the  family  shares  with  feelings  akin  to  those  which 
a  traveller  experiences  when  ordered  to  hand  over  his 
valuables  by  a  gentlemanly  highwayman;  there  was  no 
recourse  but  to  submit.  Only  civil  words  were  spoken,  but 
the  incident  rankled.  He  was  more  than  ever  determined 
to  dispute  with  Blaisdell  the  leadership  of  State  Street,  and 
what  would  constitute  more  effective  retaliation  than  to 
wrest  from  his  rival  the  management  of  Electric  Coke? 
This  would  be  a  Roland  for  his  Oliver  with  a  vengeance. 

The  two  cousins  duly  qualified  as  administrators  with 
the  will  annexed.  A  few  days  later— and  some  three  weeks 
subsequent  to  Baxter  Chippendale's  death— Chauncey 
remained  down-town  unusually  late.  It  was  nearly  six 
o'clock  and  dark  when  he  left  his  office.  His  affairs  were 
on  his  mind.  The  new  securities  of  sundry  enterprises  to 


480  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

which  he  and  his  firm  were  committed  were  practically 
unsalable  at  the  moment,  because  of  the  feverish  condition 
of  all  the  markets  due  to  the  war-like  speeches  in  Congress 
inspired  by  Spain's  attitude  in  regard  to  the  belligerent 
Cubans.  What  was  to  be  the  outcome  of  this  inflamma 
tory  talk  ?  Chauncey  was  fain  to  believe  that,  as  usual,  it 
was  merely  bluster,  for  the  manufacture  of  political  capital. 
But  was  there  not  danger  that  the  smouldering  resentment 
caused  by  the  destruction  of  the  battleship  Maine  would 
be  fanned  by  the  persistent  bombast  of  the  legislators 
at  Washington  into  a  genuine  conflagration  which  all 
the  buckets  of  the  administration  would  be  unable  to 
extinguish?  And  if  so,  what  was  to  become  of  the  poor 
business  man  ?  In  the  interval  he  was  kept  on  pins  and 
needles. 

As  he  walked  along  the  streets,  comparatively  de 
serted  at  this  hour,  thus  chewing  the  cud  of  perplexity, 
he  suddenly  came  upon  Blaisdell.  It  was  at  a  point 
slightly  at  an  angle  across  the  way  from  the  large  building 
in  which  was  the  office  occupied  by  his  late  uncle.  The 
two  men  had  not  met  since  Baxter's  decease,  and  Blaisdell 
succeeded  in  imparting  to  his  greeting  that  happy  com 
bination  of  condolence  and  congratulation  which  was  the 
other's  due.  It  was  too  soon  for  words,  but  a  handclasp 
in  the  case  of  Blaisdell  could  be  made  to  speak  volumes. 

"Working  overtime  I  see,"  said  Chauncey. 

Blaisdell  shook  his  head.  "It's  nothing  extraordinary 
for  me  to  be  kept  at  the  office  until  half-past  six.  I'm  just 
on  my  way  there  now." 

"I  suppose  when  those  patriots  at  Washington  have 
nearly  ruined  the  business  of  the  country  we  shall  wake 
up  some  fine  morning  to  discover  that  the  two  governments 
have  come  to  an  agreement  and  that  there  never  was  any 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  481 

chance  of  war."  Chauncey  revealed  what  was  uppermost 
in  his  thoughts,  and  he  was  sufficiently  nonplussed  himself 
to  be  ready  to  hear  an  outsider's  opinion. 

"I  doubt  it  very  much.  I  am  prepared  for  war — have 
been  for  weeks.  We  have  been  drifting  steadily  in  that 
direction  ever  since  the  blowing  up  of  the  Maine.  I  under 
stand  on  the  best  of  authority  that  the  members  of  both 
branches  of  Congress  are  in  daily  receipt  of  scores  of  let 
ters  from  the  West  egging  them  on  to  avenge  the  insult  to  the 
nation — and — er — incidentally  annex  Cuba.  We  may 
possibly  escape  it.  But  perhaps  the  time  has  come  to 
shake  the  bough  and  permit  that  isolated  rosy  pippin  to 
fall  into  Uncle  Sam's  market  basket." 

Blaisdell  spoke  with  his  wonted  assurance,  and,  though 
graphically,  with  the  calm  of  one  who  has  put  his  house  in 
order  and  is  waiting  to  see  his  judgment  vindicated.  The 
speech  was  obnoxious  to  Chauncey  for  two  reasons.  It 
ran  counter  to  his  own  opinion;  consequently  he  became 
more  set  in  his  belief  that  there  was  nothing  but  bunkum 
behind  the  diatribes  of  the  politicians.  In  the  second  place, 
the  cool  intimation  that  the  opportunity  was  favorable  for 
misappropriating  the  island  of  Cuba  disturbed  his  ethical 
equanimity.  To  be  sure,  in  discussions  with  his  father, 
who  had  lived  for  years  in  constant  political  dread  that 
the  government  would  find,  sooner  or  later,  an  excuse  for 
gobbling  up  this  fertile  but  turbulent  island,  he  had  taken 
the  stand  that  its  possession  by  the  United  States  was 
merely  a  question  of  time,  the  proposition  emanating  in 
cold  blood  at  this  moment  from  Blaisdell  struck  him  as 
synonymous  with  stealing. 

"I  have  expected  and  still  fully  expect  to  see  the  poli 
ticians  come  to  their  senses  and  this  affair  blow  over,"  he 
replied.  "I  am  loath  to  credit  an  ulterior  purpose;  to  be- 


482  THE   CHIPPENDALES' 

lieve  that  this  great  nation  is  capable  of  taking  advantage 
of  Spam's  predicament  in  order  to  grab— 

At  this  moment  Chauncey's  curiosity  was  so  arrested  by 
a  sight  across  the  street  that  he  negected  to  complete  his 
sentence.  From  where  he  stood  he  beheld  his  cousin, 
Henry  Sumner,  issue  from  the  office  building  opposite, 
and,  in  company  with  a  young  woman  dressed  in  black, 
enter  a  carriage  which  had  evidently  been  waiting  for  them 
at  the  curb-stone.  What  fettered  his  attention  to  the  ex 
clusion  of  every  other  thought  was  that  in  the  young  woman 
in  question  he  had  recognized  his  cousin's  former  stenog 
rapher,  Miss  Brackett.  He  remembered  the  name  and  he 
was  sure  of  the  identity.  It  was  dark,  but  the  electric  light 
had  shone  on  her  face,  and  Henry's  figure  was  unmistak 
able.  Chauncey  craned  his  neck  after  the  retreating  vehicle 
and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  amused  astonishment.  What 
did  this  departure  together  import  ?  In  denying  knowledge 
of  her  whereabouts  Henry  had  apparently  been  throwing 
dust  in  his  eyes.  The  episode  was  open  to  one  of  two  inter 
pretations.  Was  his  notoriously  moral  cousin  a  gay  Lo 
thario  after  all  ?  Diverting  as  such  a  possibility  appeared, 
was  it  not  far  more  probable — much  more  like  him — that, 
being  now,  on  the  strength  of  his  inheritance,  free  to 
choose  a  wife,  Henry  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  charms  of 
this  daughter  of  Heth  and  married  her  ? 

"Can't  you  let  me  into  the  joke?"  Blaisdell  ejaculated, 
seeing  that  Chauncey,  oblivious  of  everything  else,  and  con 
vulsed  with  mirth,  continued  to  gaze  after  the  disappearing 
coupe*. 

"  It's  my  cousin,  Henry  Sumner.  I  was  trying  to  fathom 
why  he  should  be  driving  off  in  a  hack  at  this  hour  of  the 
day  with — er — a  beautiful  young  woman." 

"Our  reform  candidate  for  mayor?" 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  483 

"The  very  same.'' 

"Some  client,  doubtless;  let  us  hope  so.  At  any  rate, 
may  we  not  assume  that  the  young  woman  is  reasonably 
secure?" 

Chauncey  laughed  gleefully.  "Ordinarily  we  might. 
But  there's  a  mystery  here.  I  recognized  her — and  it's  his 
stenographer.  He  took  pains  to  tell  me  the  other  day  that 
she  had  left  his  employ  and  that  he  had  lost  sight  of  her. 
I  begin  to  smell  a  rat." 

Blaisdell  remained  humorously  impassive,  but  he 
pricked  up  his  ears.  "What  do  you  suspect?"  he  asked 
casually. 

Chauncey  enjoyed  the  opportunity  to  give  rein  to  his 
imagination  at  Henry's  expense. 

"Nothing  perfidious;  quite  the  contrary.  In  the  case  of 
any  one  else,  we — er — might  feel  concern  on  the  lady's 
account,  as  you  pointed  out.  But  it's  of  my  puritan  cousin 
I'm  thinking.  It  is  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  we 
have  just  pried  upon  the  ostrich-like  proceedings  of  a  newly 
married  pair." 

"Married  her,  you  believe?"  Imperturbable  as  Blais 
dell  intended  to  appear,  this  was  more  startling  than  he 
had  hoped. 

Chauncey  realized  that  he  had  gone  too  far.  He  felt  the 
desire  to  retract.  Blood  was  thicker  than  water;  and,  if 
the  family  linen  had  to  be  washed,  Blaisdell  was  the  last 
person  whose  confidence  he  would  seek. 

"I  don't  really  know  a  thing.  They  may  be  going  to 
take  some  dying  person's  deposition  for  all  I  can  say. 
Or,"  he  added  gaily,  shifting  deftly  the  boot  to  the  other 
leg,  "who  knows  but  we  are  all  mistaken  in  our  reform 
candidate,  and  he  may  be  under  the  rose — er — a  devil  of 
a  fellow?" 


484  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Quite  so,"  said  Blaisdell.  "But  the  incident  seems  to 
be  shrouded  in  mystery?"  he  added. 

"I  cannot  deny  that." 

Blaisdell  seemed  nonchalantly  entertained.  "And 
what  did  you  say  her  name  was,  Chauncey?" 

"Brackett— so  he  told  me  once.  And  I'll  do  Henry  the 
justice  to  say  that  his  taste  is  good.  She's  pretty  as  a 
peach." 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

"A  ROLLING  stone  gathers  no  moss."  Such  was  Mrs. 
Avery's  comment  when  she  heard  that  Priscilla  had  re 
solved  to  forsake  the  labor  of  love,  to  which  she  had  spon 
taneously  dedicated  herself,  and  return  home  to  live.  Pris 
cilla  recognized  the  innuendo — that  if  she  were  not  less  ca 
pricious,  she  would  never  get  a  husband.  No  wonder  her 
step-mother  indulged  in  insinuations.  She  could  not 
bring  herself  to  reveal  the  exact  truth,  and  there  was 
no  denying  that  the  explanation  offered— Hugh's  and  her 
decision  that  the  temporary  arrangement  had  lasted  long 
enough — was  flimsy.  The  decision  was  so  sudden — like 
lightning  from  a  clear  sky  when  everything  seemed  most 
serene.  And  the  worst  of  it  was  she  was  conscious  that 
even  Lora's  mother,  after  a  brief  protest  of  tears,  would 
have  accepted  her  marriage  to  Hugh  as  the  best  thing 
which  could  happen  for  all  concerned. 

If  she  had  not  flinched  from  the  discovery  of  her  own 
secret,  she  was  no  less  honest  in  facing  the  bitter  truth 
which  confronted  her  that  she  had  failed  to  rise  to  the 
occasion  and  throw  herself  into  her  lover's  arms.  How 
glorious  such  a  solution  would  have  been !  The  shame  of 
having  loved  unawares  would  have  been  richly  atoned  for. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  485 

Instead,  she  had  failed — and  had  let  him  go;  dismissed 
him  with  no  hope  save  what  he  might  extract  from  the 
definite  assurance  that  there  was  no  one  else.  Night  and 
the  opportunity  to  reflect  had  merely  set  the  positive  ad 
vantages  in  higher  relief.  She  and  Hugh  were  the  best  of 
friends;  she  admired  his  great  ability,  she  was  very  fond 
of  him,  and  they  would  get  on  admirably;  power  and 
wealth  were  his  to  bestow,  and  it  would  be  false  humility 
to  deny  that  she  would  be  able  to  help  him.  He  was  right 
— they  would  make  an  effective  couple.  But  why  had  she 
lost  the  capacity  to  thrill  in  his  presence*  as  if  he  were  a 
demi-god  now  that  she  was  free  to  yield  to  that  emotion? 
She  was  growing  old,  and  had  lost  forever,  it  might  be, 
the  illusion  of  youth;  but  as  to  testing  her  love  by  a 
thermometer,  as  he  had  charged,  she  knew  better;  the 
thrill  had  been  unmistakable  and  she  felt  it  no  longer. 
One  course  was  to  give  herself  to  Hugh  by  virtue  of  his 
credentials  and  on  the  strength  of  the  past,  the  other  was 
to  seek  the  reason  for  the  change. 

She  had  sought  the  reason  at  the  fateful  moment  when 
the  yearned-for  transports  had  failed,  and  had  received  as 
a  reply  from  her  intelligence  that  it  was  the  fear  of  the 
scorn  of  Henry  Sumner.  That  this  other  friend  of  hers 
was  responsible  she  had  no  doubt;  she  had  accused  him 
to  herself  on  the  spot  almost  with  indignation.  She  had 
felt  like  going  to  him  and  saying:  " Restore  to  me  the  hap 
piness  of  which  you  have  robbed  me."  The  opportunity 
to  ponder  had  also  warned  her  not  to  confound  cause  and 
effect.  If  this  other  friend  had  traduced  him  intemperately 
and  falsely,  if  the  proofs  were  admittedly  lacking,  and  im 
palpable  as  air,  what  then?  Could  she  fairly  'lay  the 
responsibility  on  his  shoulders  ?  Must  she  not  scrutinize 
her  own  heart  for  the  sources  of  the  change?  Her  own 


486  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

heart?  Her  mind,  rather;  the  mind  of  the  typical  Boston 
girl.  It  was  she  who  had  changed.  The  reason  she  could 
no  longer  thrill  at  her  lover's  coming  was  because  his  feet 
were  of  clay.  There  were  no  proofs  still;  his  faults  were 
impalpable  as  air — but,  alas!  she  had  detected  them.  The 
thin  atmosphere  of  Boston  had  atrophied  her  soul  and— 
and  saved  her  from  a  horrible  mistake.  Like  a  true  Boston 
girl  she  had  put  on  moral  eye-glasses. 

The  responsibility  was  hers.  It  was  she  who  had 
changed.  But,  though  she  might  not  hold  him  to  blame, 
she  looked  at  Henry  with  fresh  curiosity  when  they  met  on 
their  Adirondack  trip.  What  manner  of  man  was  this  that 
even  the  winds  and  the  seas  obeyed  him  ?  Lank,  tactless, 
self-righteous  and  socially  self-absorbed,  what  was  the 
secret  of  his  power?  It  was  not  merely  his  desire  for  the 
truth  at  any  cost,  his  relentless  impulse  to  strip  bare  and 
protest  against  every  deviation  from  the  right  as  he  saw  it, 
but  his  unfaltering  faith  in  the  existence  of  the  right  and 
that  there  were  truths  which  could  not  be  explained  away. 
What  could  not  the  others — what  could  not  Blaisdell  and 
the  joyous  democracy  for  which  he  stood,  explain  away? 
When  brought  face  to  face  with  the  disagreeable  or  incon 
venient,  how  speciously  he  could  evade  the  responsibilities 
of  the  situation.  At  the  touch  of  his  assuring  logic  every 
standard  yielded,  and  the  firm  foundations  of  principle 
crumbled  smoothly  as  the  landslide  under  the  feet  of  the 
climber.  So  much,  alas!  had  her  moral  eye-glasses  made 
plain  to  her — that  to  be  easy-going  and  tolerant-of  every 
thing,  to  believe  in  nothing  save  money  making  and  material 
comfort  sufficiently  to  form  enemies  on  account  of  it — was 
a  creed  which  had  lost  its  charm.  And  shrink  from  it  as 
she  would,  was  not  her  brilliant  brother-in-law  the  protag 
onist  of  this  very  creed  ? 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  487 

That  first  night  beside  the  camp  fire  was  much  as  she 
had  pictured  it.  There  were  a  dozen  in  the  party,  and 
while  the  big  logs  blazed  and  snapped,  they  reclined  in 
shadow  discussing  a  problem — if  man  or  woman  should 
cease  to  exist,  which?  Still  conscious  as  she  was  of  the 
humor  of  the  situation,  she  felt  that  she  belonged  there. 
Henry  lay  nearest  her.  Her  thoughts  were  far  away, 
revisiting  the  blighted  garden  and  planning  for  her  future 
life.  But  she  was  conscious  of  him  there  at  her  side  like  a 
faithful  watchdog.  He  was  not  obtrusive.  He  seemed  (for 
once)  to  have  divined  that  she  wished  to  be  let  alone. 
Every  now  and  then  in  the  dark  she  would  steal  a  meta 
phorical  look  at  him  when  he  loomed  up  in  the  direness  of 
the  contrast  between  him  and  Hugh.  These  looks  were 
repeated  on  the  following  days,  during  the  long  tramps, 
the  luncheons  of  hard  boiled  eggs  and  water,  and  the  com 
munion  with  nature  in  pairs.  There  was  abundant  oppor 
tunity  for  this  new-fledged  curiosity,  since  Henry  was 
obviously  the  Jack  to  her  Jill.  Literally  if  a  pail  of  water 
had  to  be  fetched,  they  were  expected  to  fetch  it  together. 
Yet  from  time  to  time  a  delicate  hand — Mrs.  Paton's— 
intervened  and  deliberately  separated  them  for  an  after 
noon  lest  the  association  seem  too  marked. 

Priscilla  was  conscious,  too,  of  resenting  this  interfer 
ence.  It  suited  her  to  climb  at  Henry's  side  up  a  moun 
tain,  or  follow  him  single  file  through  the  woods,  wrapped 
in  her  reveries,  and  let  him  do  the  talking.  She  heard  what 
he  said  and  listened  or  not  as  she  saw  fit.  A  word  or  two 
occasionally  on  her  part  sufficed — and  the  experience  was 
restful.  Henry  was  in  a  poetic  mood,  but  a  subjective  one 
so  far  as  outward  manifestations  were  concerned.  The 
ozone  of  the  pine  trees  appeared  to  have  stimulated  his 
imagination,  for  he  was  fain  to  quote  the  poets  by  the 


488  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

yard— sonnets    of   Wordsworth,    the   splendid   sweep   of 
"Paradise   Lost,"  the   classical   metres  of   Clough, '  and 
from  other  wells  of  verse.     He  recited  clearly,  as  if  the 
background  of  the  hills  were  the  sounding-board  he  loved, 
and  the  pastime  did  not  bore  but  soothed  her.    With  others 
of  the  party— Professor  Paton  and  Morgan  Drake,  for 
instance— it  was  necessary  to  converse.     They  were  sure 
to  suggest  a  problem  and  not  to  be  content  with  monologue. 
She  had  been  invited  chiefly  on  Henry's  account,  but  also 
because  they  all  expected  to  be  edified  by  her  conversation. 
And  she  did  not  feel  in  the  least  like  talking.    Moreover, 
Henry  showed  no  signs  of  exhaustion— of  being  talked  out. 
Therefore  on  at  least  two  occasions  Jill  managed  to  upset 
the  precautions  of  Mrs.  Paton  and  escape  with  her  Jack, 
which  caused  sly  remarks  beside   the    camp-fire.     Pro 
fessor  Paton  proclaimed  himself  a  tease;   which  might  be 
the  revenge  of  an  unrequited  love  grown  cold  and  trans 
ferred.     Priscilla  preferred   this  as  an  alternative  to  the 
indiscriminate  discussion  of  problems  with  people  who 
would  not  let  her  alone;    and  fortunately  Henry  showed 
no  undue  exultation.    "I  do  not  feel  like  talking,"  she  had 
explained  to  him  when  inviting  his  complicity — "I  just 
wish  to  tramp— and  you  may  recite  poetry."     This  was 
uncompromising  surely,  and  if.  he  were  still  foolish  enough 
to  weave  romance  out  of  it,  she  would  have  to  run  the  risk 
of   being  obliged   to  undeceive   him  again.     There  was 
always  the  possibility  that  he  might  feel  constrained  to  fall 
on  his  knees  amid  the  silence  of  the  woods  and  kiss  her 
hand — but  she  would  trust  him. 

Gratitude  for  this  forbearance  caused  her  to  take  an 
other  metaphorical  look  at  him — an  actual  sidelong  glance, 
in  fact.  At  the  moment  they  were  reclining  side  by  side, 
but  with  considerable  space  between,  against  a  fallen  tree 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  489 

trunk  on  the  borders  of  a  sequestered,  placid  lake,  the  goal 
of  a  long  walk. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  anything  about  yourself  lately," 
she  said  to  explain  her  glance. 

This  brought  Henry  from  the  clouds.  She  had  thrown 
the  poor  dog  a  bone.  It  had  fallen  between  his  paws,  hit 
ting  him  on  the  nose,  so  to  speak,  recalling  him  to  this  dim 
spot  which  men  call  earth.  He  had  been  spouting  poetry 
and  propounding  metaphysics  for  the  past  ten  days  in 
apparent  disregard  of  it  so  far  as  concerned  him  personally. 
Consciousness  of  the  aroma  of  the  hemlock  in  his  nostrils 
and  that  she  was  constantly  within  easy  reach— not  seek 
ing  to  escape  from  him,  had  been  sufficient  to  detain  him 
in  the  seventh  heaven.  But  reminded  of  finite  considera 
tions,  he  had  more  or  less  to  tell  her.  The  Bacchante  had 
found  a  niche  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  in  New  York; 
her  protegee,  Mabel  Brackett,  had  left  his  employ  for  a 
position  at  a  higher  salary  in  New  York;  and  the  advocates 
of  non-partisan  municipal  politics  were  hoping  that  General 
Langdon  would  accept  a  Citizens'  nomination  for  Mayor. 

Had  not  Henry  and  she  always  maintained  that  the 
comparative  seclusion  of  an  Art  Museum  was  the  fitting 
place  for  the  meretricious  statue?  She  must  ascertain 
Mabel's  address  and  keep  a  protecting  eye  on  her  in  a 
strange  city,  now  that  she  had  so  much  time  on  her  hands. 
So  Priscilla  treated  the  first  two  items  of  news.  As  for  the 
Mayoralty,  it  opened  up  again  and  threw  further  light  on 
that  struggle,  appreciation  of  which  had  helped  to  keep 
her  silent  all  these  days— the  struggle  for  perfection  of  a 
handful  of  souls  against  easy-going  optimistic  democracy. 
Divine  discontent — a  constitutional  tendency  to  pick  flaws 
in  the  existing  order  of  things— behold  the  two  poles  of 
nomenclature ! 


490  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Are  both  the  regular  parties  so  bad  that  you  can  trust 
neither?"  she  inquired,  not  hostile  to  non-partisanship, 
but  impelled  to  break  one  more  lance  in  behalf  of  joyous 
democracy. 

Henry  showed  himself  eager  to  explain.  "We  were 
anxious  to  avoid  a  third  candidate,"  he  said.  "We  be 
sought  the  Republicans  to  nominate  an  unexceptionable 
Democrat  and  promised  our  full  support.  With  the  right 
person  we  could  overcome  the  large  democratic  majority. 
But  they  were  too  hide-bound;  the  rank  and  file  demanded 
a  mediocre  party  man;  would  not  stand  for  any  other  in 
the  caucuses.  It  was  a  choice  of  evils.  So  what  could  we 
do?  Surely  we  are  right  to  register  our  protest.  That's 
what  our  nomination  of  General  Langdon  means,  if  he 
accepts.  I  wish  I  were  young  and  inexperienced  enough 
to  believe  that  he  can  be  elected.  Only  a  miracle  could 
accomplish  that." 

It  was  clear  that  he  wished  first  of  all  to  exonerate  him 
self  from  the  imputation  of  being  either  an  obstructionist  or 
visionary.  At  the  same  time  his  kindling  eye  betrayed  that, 
despite  his  disclaimer,  he  still  cherished  the  hope  that  the 
miraculous  might  happen. 

Priscilla  mused  a  moment.  "  Democracy's  constant  peril 
seems  to  be  that  it  idealizes  second-rate  people  and 
standards." 

"This  from  you?  You  lay  yourself  open  to  the  charge 
of  being  an  aristocrat  and  a  malcontent." 

"I  know  it,"  she  murmured  with  a  sigh. 

"But  you  hit  the  mark  when  you  said  '  idealize,'"  he  re 
sponded  brightly.  "The  cynic  contends  that  democracy 
prefers  the  worst;  which  isn't  true.  It  invariably  yearns 
for  the  best;  but  it  doesn't  recognize  it  when  it  sees  it. 
The  world  used  to  look  up  to  its  rulers  because  they  were 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  491 

superior  to  the  mass.  Now  they  prefer  to  have  them  as 
nearly  like  themselves  as  possible — a  little  smarter,  per 
haps,  but  otherwise  just  the  same.  That's  at  the  root  of 
our  trouble  in  municipal  politics.  The  multitude  would 
rather  have  one  of  their  own  sort  whom  they  know  and  call 
by  his  first  name  than  General  Langdon  with  whom  they 
have  little  in  common." 

"You  mean  that  our  democracy  is  self-complacent?" 
"You  couldn't  have  chosen  a  more  accurate  word.  In 
toxicated,  it  might  be  said,  with  its  joy  in  loose  living.  The 
people  who  say  'you  was'  and  'excuse  me,'  illustrate  simply 
our  happy-go-lucky  tendency  in  everything  from  politics  to 
manners.  Each  set  asserts  its  own  standards.  Our  com 
placent  public  is  sensitive,  too;  it  resents  even  tacit  strict 
ures.  In  the  circles  where  women  chew  gum  those  who  re 
frain  are  liable  to  be  criticised  as  snobs."  Henry  paused. 
Priscilla  realized  that  he  had  purposely  not  minced  his 
words,  and  was  speaking  more  satirically  than  his  wont  be 
cause  he  wished  her  to  know  that,  however  tolerant  he  had 
become,  he  had  still  the  courage  of  his  convictions.  Never 
theless,  despite  the  olive  branch  which  he  had  extended  to 
chronic  doubt,  he  evidently  felt  that  his  bold  irony  required 
some  justifying  antithesis,  for  he  continued:  "The  few 
who  set  themselves  against  the  tide  are  certain  to  be 
sneered  at  and  submerged.  They  are  styled  cold  and  cen 
sorious;  often  they  are  narrow  and  too  conventional.  But 
the  impulse  which  governs  them  is  not  self-righteousness, 
but  patriotism.  With  all  their  shortcomings  their  excuse 
for  being  is  that  they  represent  an  appetite  for  perfection 
and  abhorrence  of  looseness." 

Why  had  Henry  chosen  this  moment  to  reaffirm  and 
crystallize  his  philosophy?  Why  had  he  seen  fit  at  this 
juncture  to  put  down  his  foot  and  define  the  boundaries  of 


492  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

his  moral  independence?  After  ten  days  in  the  woods 
together  it  was  as  though  he  had  suddenly  stopped  short 
and  said,  "thus  far  I  have  followed  you,  but  I  will  go  no 
further."  Was  she  a  luring  will-o'-the-wisp  lighting  a  good 
man  to  destruction?  These  tart  questions  mingled  them 
selves  with  Priscilla's  consciousness  that  he  was  merely 
setting  before  her  in  concise  terms  the  equation  which  had 
been  haunting  her  own  soul  ever  since  her  arrival.  He  was 
repeating  what  she  had  discovered  for  herself.  But  he  was 
almost  dispassionate;  he  had  not  even  invited  her  to 
choose  between  the  conflicting  poles  of  life.  He  had  sim 
ply,  as  it  were,  drawn  a  ring  of  fire  and  planted  himself 
within  it.  Could  her  self-respect  endure  such  presumption  ? 

Whatever  reply  feminine  waywardness  might  have  dic 
tated,  Priscilla  was  spared  the  necessity  of  speech.  While 
her  emotions  clashed  a  magnificent  stag  with  spreading 
antlers  stepped  from  the  shelter  of  the  wood  two  hundred 
yards  away  from  where  they  sat,  and,  sniffing  the  air  with 
the  wariness  of  graceful  wild  things  on  the  alert  for  dan 
ger,  dipped  his  nose  in  the  lake. 

"Look.  The  pretty  creature,"  she  whispered,  while 
Henry  reached  for  his  camera.  He  had  brought  a  gun  with 
him  to  camp,  but  had  not  used  it,  and  only  the  night  be 
fore  had  recited  to  her  Emerson's  lines  on  the  delights  of 
the  woods  without  slaughter.  What  would  an  Indian 
squaw  think  of  her  brave  ?  Blaisdell  would  have  coveted 
the  antlers.  So  she  reflected— such  are  the  vagaries  of  the 
feminine  mind — as  Henry  took  two  careful  snaps  shots  at 
the  stately  animal  ere  it  scented  some  peril  and  bounded 
into  the  thicket. 

The  original  topic  was  not  resumed  and  camp  was  broken 
two  days  later.  Priscilla's  first  need  was  to  gather  up  the 
threads  of  life  where  she  had  dropped  them  in  order  to 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  493 

assume  the  care  of  Lora's  children.  Her  sojourn  in  the 
Adirondacks  had  merely  served  to  strengthen  her  decision 
as  to  BlaisdelPs  offer.  But  their  friendship  must  suffer  as 
little  as  possible.  A  woman  in  such  circumstances  can 
always  be  trusted  to  desire  this;  and,  to  preserve  it,  Pris- 
cilla  felt  at  liberty  to  leave  Hugh  free  to  convert  her  if  he 
could.  Indeed,  if  he  could  succeed  in  reproducing  the 
telepathic  spell,  would  not  her  hand  be  his  reward  ?  It  was 
his  due  to  let  him  try,  and  she  could  afford  to  run  the  risk. 

Priscilla  found  Blaisdell  accommodating.  Far  from 
taking  umbrage  at  his  rejection  and  avoiding  her  society, 
he  made  it  plain  from  the  moment  they  met  after  her 
return  that  he  had  no  intention  of  accepting  her  answer  as 
final,  but  proposed  to  win  her  if  he  could  and  to  spare  no 
endeavors  to  do  so.  Her  virtual  admission  that  she  had 
loved  him  once — there  was  surely  a  loophole  large  enough 
to  encourage  a  disconsolate  lover.  He  did  not  obtrude 
this  vantage  point,  but  he  kept  it  in  the  foreground  by  way 
of  letting  her  know  that  he  had  not  forgotten  it,  and  that 
he  relied  on  it  as  compelling  in  the  long  run.  He  made 
plain,  too,  that  he  considered  it  gave  him  the  proprietary 
right  of  inquiry  as  to  her  attitude  toward  all  comers. 
Toward  Henry  Sumner  in  particular.  He  insisted  on 
specifying  Henry  as  a  rival;  and  ridiculous  as  he  evidently 
regarded  the  latter's  pretensions  on  grounds  of  congruity, 
he  refused  to  credit  altogether  her  disclaimer.  Why  had 
she  gone  to  the  Adirondacks?  Was  it  not  he  who  had 
poisoned  her  mind  against  him?  Assuredly  the  source  of 
her  change  of  heart  toward  himself  was  to  be  found  in  her 
partiality  for  this  hair-splitting  reformer. 

Urbanity,  as  we  all  know,  was  Blaisdell's  invariable  cue. 
Even  when  the  depths  of  his  nature  were  stirred,  as  now, 
he  did  not  indulge  in  contumely.  Doubtless  he  realized 


494  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

that  at  the  present  juncture  the  disparagement  of  mild  dis 
dain  which  he  had  always  bestowed  on  Henry  would  avail 
him  little.  What  he  now  sought  to  emphasize  was  his 
conviction  that,  by  gazing  through  the  eyes  of  Henry,  Pris- 
cilla  had  learned  to  look  askance  at  himself.  Though  he 
shrank  from  the  possibility  that  she  could  ever  marry  this 
pseudo-rival  under  any  circumstances,  he  foresaw  that  she 
would  remain  obdurate  toward  himself  so  long  as  her  faith 
in  this  other  quarter  remained  unimpaired. 

This  was  the  point  which  he  went  out  of  his  way  to  im 
press  upon  her.  Such  was  the  state  of  mind  in  which  Pris- 
cilla  found  him  on  her  return.  A  maddening  policy  this, 
the  insinuation  that  logic  demanded  that  she  must  be 
enamoured  of  a  definite  person  because  she  had  refused 
him.  It  could  be  treated  only  with  becoming  dignity. 
They  were  both  dear  friends,  nothing  more;  and  the 
obvious  solace  to  her  sensibilities — she  uttered  this  in  his 
presence  to  hear  how  it  would  sound — was  that  she  would 
retain  her  faith  in  both  and  marry  neither. 

How  destroy  her  faith  in  his  pseudo-rival?  How,  at 
least,  minimize  his  influence  so  that  his  own  would  again 
become  paramount?  Blaisdell  did  not  quail  before  the 
consciousness  that  he  had  indirectly  been  aiming  at  this 
ever  since  they  had  first  met.  The  answer  which  his  opti 
mistic  nature  provided  was  that  the  real  necessity  had 
never  arisen  until  now.  Hitherto  Henry  Sumner  had  been 
a  side  show  so  far  as  concerned  his  personal  welfare;  but 
now  his  dearest  ambition  was  bound  up  in  the  need  of  re 
moving  the  scales  from  her  eyes  and  enabling  her  to  see 
him  as  he  really  was. 

Yet  it  was  repugnant  to  Blaisdell  that  another  enmity 
had  been  introduced  into  his  life  obliging  him  to  meditate 
and  have  recourse  to  hostile  measures  to  bring  to  pass 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  495 

what  he  desired.  Wide  apart  as  the  two  cousins,  Chatm- 
cey  and  Henry,  were,  in  temperament  and  point  of  view, 
they  had  managed  to  antagonize  him,  each  in  his  particular 
way,  until  the  time  had  come  when,  for  the  sake  of  his  own 
self-respect,  it  was  incumbent  on  him  to  annihilate  them— 
eat  'em  up,  as  the  current  phrase  was.  So  far  as  Chauncey 
was  concerned,  matters  were  shaping  themselves  toward 
such  a  finish;  he  felt  no  solicitude  as  to  the  ultimate  result. 
But  the  problem  of  how  to  dispose  of  Henry,  involving  as 
it  did  the  discovery  of  some  flaw  or  inconsistency  in  the 
obnoxious  traits  which  the  latter  displayed  to  the  world, 
made  him  pause.  Remembering  that  none  are  so  blind  as 
those  who  will  not  see,  he  recognized  that,  to  shake  Pris- 
cilla's  faith  in  him,  he  must  be  able  to  confront  her  with 
irrefutable  evidence  to  his  discredit.  Where  was  the  anti 
dote  to  this  catalogue  of  virtues?  Hypocrisy.  This  was 
what  Blaisdell  had  always  been  fain  to  believe  from  the 
early  days  of  their  acquaintance.  Though  he  had  pro 
fessed  to  take  small  account  of  Henry,  he  had  been 
on  his  guard  to  catch  him  tripping.  Was  not  one  so 
notoriously  self-righteous  certain  to  possess  some  under 
hand  besetting  sin?  The  ordinary  philosophy  of  life 
encouraged  him  to  believe  so.  But  thus  far  Henry,  if 
precedent  was  to  be  trusted,  had  managed  to  elude  him. 
As  an  alternative  he  had  succeeded  in  consoling  himself 
with  the  conclusion  that  his  rival  was  an  irreproachable 
sexless  ascetic  with  pessimistic  proclivities.  But  this  felici 
tous  estimate  was  of  no  avail  in  the  present  emergency.  He 
must  abandon  it  in  favor  of  a  further  search  for  hidden 
weaknesses — a  decision  which  caused  Blaisdell  to  knit  his 
brows  in  true  perplexity  for  one  of  the  few  times  in  his 
experience.  Paradoxical  as  his  felicitous  estimate  sounded, 
his  acute  mind  had  adopted  it  as  the  real  truth. 


496  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

The  death  of  Baxter  Chippendale  was  a  temporary  set 
back  to  BlaisdelPs  still  hunt  for  Chauncey.  The  inheri 
tance  of  so  considerable  a  sum  of  money  must  inevitably 
protract  the  contest  for  supremacy  between  them;  for, 
while  his  rival  on  State  Street  might  spread  his  wings  on 
the  strength  of  this  large  nest  egg  and  indulge  in  fresh 
financial  flights,  this  addition  to  Chauncey's  resources 
could  not  fail  to  postpone  the  day  of  reckoning,  even  though 
hastened  by  an  opportune  foreign  war.  But  tenacious  as 
Blaisdell  was  of  any  ambition  on  which  his  mind  was  set, 
he  bore  with  equanimity  this  temporary  check  by  destiny 
for  the  reason  that  it  had  become  overshadowed  by  his 
absorbing  love  affair.  There  would  be  time  enough  to 
settle  with  Chauncey  when  Henry  was  out  of  the  way. 
And  the  problem  of  how  to  get  rid  of  Henry  was  no  less 
urgent  than  puzzling.  The  dangers  of  delay  stared  him  in 
the  face,  and  the  feelers  which  he  had  put  out  through 
various  channels  of  information  brought  back  no  results. 
Scrutinize  closely  as  he  would  his  rival's  record,  the 
reliable  report  in  every  instance  was  substantially  the  same 
— a  visionary  enthusiast,  but,  so  far  as  any  one  could  de 
tect,  immaculate  in  his  private  life. 

To  state  that  it  occurred  to  Blaisdell  at  this  juncture  to 
weave  a  plot  in  which  to  enmesh  this  blameless  antagonist 
would  do  him  wrong.  He  went  no  further  than  to  philoso 
phize  on  how  easily  the  rich  and  powerful  of  a  not  remote 
past  were  able  to  get  rid  of  those  who  sought  to  frustrate 
their  designs,  and  take  some  credit  to  himself  for  humane 
forebearance.  Was  not  the  progress  of  the  world  toward 
a  higher  level  of  morality  thus  signally  illustrated  ?  Never 
theless,  when  he  listened  to  Chauncey's  edifying  words 
and  watched  the  retreating  vehicle  in  which  he  had  just 
been  assured  that  the  hitherto  immaculate  and  visionary 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  497 

was  ensconced  with  a  nondescript  young  woman,  Blaisdell 
experienced  difficulty  in  controlling  his  exultation  suffi 
ciently  to  ask  the  proper  questions.  At  the  twelfth  hour 
fate  had  delivered  his  rival  into  his  hands  fully  bound. 
For  whichever  horn  of  the  dilemma  were  correct,  Henry's 
discomfiture  was  assured.  Married — if  his  cousin's  words 
were  to  be  taken  at  their  face  value!  A  moment's  sweet 
thought  told  Blaisdell  that  this  was  preferable  to  the  con 
viction  of  rank  hypocrisy  for  which  he  hankered.  Such 
a  consummation  would  not  only  leave  the  field  clear  to 
him  forever,  but  save  his  own  skirts  from  complicity  in 
spreading  scandal.  He  must  proceed  expeditiously  but 
with  caution.  When  were  they  married  and  by  whom? 
Very  likely  the  Citizens'  candidate  desired  to  conceal  the 
interesting  circumstance  until  after  election.  Provided  the 
ceremony  had  already  taken  place,  he  could  afford  to 
humor  this  preference.  The  essential  thing  at  the  mo 
ment,  Blaisdell  reasoned,  was  to  shadow  the  happy  pair 
with  the  least  possible  delay  and  ascertain  the  true  condi 
tion  of  affairs. 

Three  weeks  later  Boston  was  in  the  throes  of  a  municipal 
election.  But  what  would  be  the  result  of  the  triangular 
contest  for  Mayor  was  scarcely  in  doubt.  Every  well- 
informed  person  knew  that  the  easy-going,  unscrupulous 
Democratic  candidate  would  be  chosen  by  a  comfortable 
majority.  The  excitement  of  the  canvas  centred  on 
whether  the  broken-winded  party  hack  nominated  by  the 
Republican  machine  or  the  so-called  Citizens'  candidate 
would  get  the  most  votes;  a  real  issue  because  of  the  point 
of  dispute  involved.  The  stalwarts  of  the  minority  party 
contended  that  it  was  Henry  Sumner's  duty  to  withdraw 
and  throw  his  strength  to  their  candidate,  who,  though  not 
an  ideal  choice,  perhaps,  was  far  preferable  to  his  Demo- 


498  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

cratic  opponent.  Unless  they  joined  forces  defeat  was  in 
store  for  both.  Let  the  Citizens'  candidate,  who  did  not 
stand  the  ghost  of  a  chance  to  win,  retire  in  the  nick  of 
time  in  favor  of  ex- Alderman  Barnard  (the  broken- 
winded  hack),  and  victory  was  probable.  Was  not  this  the 
part  of  true  civic  patriotism? 

A  certain  portion  of  the  community — especially  the 
Back  Bay — was  at  loggerheads  over  the  question.  A 
large  contingent  of  "solid  business  men"  living  on  or  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Commonwealth  Avenue,  who  believed 
in  non-partisan  politics  in  municipal  affairs,  except  when 
it  involved  voting  against  a  party  candidate,  shook  their 
heads  gravely  and  declared  that  Mr.  Sumner's  attitude 
was  indefensible  and  Utopian.  He  was  playing  the  dog  in 
the  manger;  could  not  be  elected  himself  and  yet  stood  in 
the  way  of  one  who  might.  Ex-Alderman  Barnard  had 
promised  a  business  administration.  As  business  men 
themselves,  they  considered  the  refusal  of  the  Citizens' 
candidate  to  retire  as  Willy-boy  politics — a  disparaging 
term.  What  else  could  be  expected  of  a  Mugwump  ? 

On  their  side  the  supporters  of  Henry  Sumner  declared 
that  the  boot  was  on  the  other  leg.  A  party  Republican 
could  not  hope  to  overcome  the  normal  majority  unless 
there  was  a  split  in  the  Democratic  ranks.  The  with 
drawal  of  ex-Alderman  Barnard  would  give  a  filip  to  the 
non-partisan  movement  which  would  sweep  the  Citizens' 
candidate  into  office,  and  deal  a  staggering  blow  to  loose 
Celtic  methods. 

What?  Withdraw  after  formal  acceptance  and  prove 
false  to  those  whose  suffrages  at  the  convention  had  made 
him  the  standard  bearer  of  the  party  ?  A  quixotic  notion 
surely  and  worthy  of  the  source  from  which  it  emanated. 
Such  was  the  rejoinder  of  the  regulars.  The  agitation 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  499 

waxed  fast  and  furious.  There  was  wide  and  intemperate 
difference  of  opinion.  A  clergyman  and  Grand  Army  man 
declaimed  against  the  obstinacy  and  lack  of  public  spirit 
displayed  by  the  Citizens'  candidate.  If  the  city  was  handed 
over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  gang  of  thieves,  no  one  else 
would  be  to  blame.  Even  in  the  Sphinx  Club,  which 
might  be  termed  the  hot-bed  of  Sumner  proclivities,  there 
was  an  occasional  doubting  Thomas  who  inquired  anxiously 
whether,  inasmuch  as  the  other  wouldn't  retire,  it  had  not 
become  Henry's  duty  for  the  sake  of  the  general  good,  to 
go  over  to  him.  Wasn't  a  pretty  good  man  preferable  to  a 
rascal  ? 

"A  pretty  good  man  is  like  a  pretty  good  egg— he 
destroys  the  .appetite  for  perfection." 

The  retort  was  Morgan  Drake's,  yet  it  failed  to  con 
vince  the  doubter.  "But  this  is  a  democracy,"  he  began, 
"  and  if  we  don't  compromise — 

"Compromise?  My  dear  fellow,  modern  life  in  once 
Puritan  New  England  is  a  perpetual  compromise.  What 
opinions  have  we  to-day  which  we  are  not  ready  to  whittle 
away  because  we're  afraid  of  hurting  some  one  else's  feel 
ings  and  wish  to  make  everything  pleasant  ?  Toleration  is 
a  favorite  mare  whose  back  has  become  sore  from  exces 
sive  riding." 

Prominent  among  those  who  thus  shook  their  heads 
gravely  and  spoke  with  plausible  eloquence  concerning 
Henry  Sumner's  refusal  to  reenforce  the  regular  candidate 
was  Blaisdell. 

"  A  flagrant  case  of  lack  of  true  public  spirit— to  adhere 
to  a  lost  cause  from  Utopian  motives.  A  dog  in  the  man 
ger  instance  of  self-righteous  and  obstinate  personal 
ambition  masquerading  as  patriotism."  He  had  his  cues, 
the  stock  phrases  of  the  controversy  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 


500  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Utopian"  he  liked  especially.  The  dog  in  the  manger 
analogy  had  been  a  contribution  of  his  own  to  the  amen 
ities  of  the  canvas.  The  speech  was  now  addressed  to 
Priscilla.  The  days  of  good-humored,  but  contemptuous 
ridicule  of  Henry  were  over.  It  was  due  to  himself  to  bring 
to  bear  more  stringent  criticism,  if  only  to  let  her  see  that 
he  regarded  him  as  the  stumbling-block  which  stood  in  the 
way  of  his  own  happiness.  He  could  see,  too,  that  this 
nettled  her,  as  if  she  were  ashamed  of  the  imputation. 
But  Blaisdell  had  realized  of  late  that  it  behooved  him 
to  be  careful  that  his  criticisms  were  sound,  lest  they  prove 
boomerangs.  There  was  something  in  Priscilla's  manner 
of  listening  which  admonished  him  that  she  was  weighing 
every  word  and  that  her  intelligence  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  On  this  occasion  Blaisdell  felt  he  trod  firm  ground. 
Whatever  his  prejudices  might  be,  this  case  was  plain,  the 
charges  just.  How  often  in  the  past  had  he  and  she  agreed 
that  virtue  which  ceased  to  be  practical  became  futile.  And 
Blaisdell  had  a  further  secret  reason  for  complacency.  He 
was  calling  on  her  at  the  moment — had  come  to  see  her  on 
purpose  to  press  his  argument  on  the  strength  of  what  lay 
at  the  back  of  his  mind.  They  had  discussed  the  merits  of 
the  campaign  on  two  occasions  before  the  issues  were  less 
clearly  defined  and  it  had  become  apparent  that  the  regular 
party  candidate  was  doomed  to  defeat  unless  Henry  with 
drew.  She  had  sided  with  Henry  at  the  outset — he  had 
expected  this — but  her  remarks  had  shown  that  her  mind, 
as  usual,  was  open  to  argument.  He  had  endeavored  now 
to  compress  into  a  few  pregnant  sentences  the  unanswer 
able  logic  of  the  situation.  Smiling  affably,  though  his 
speech  had  been  pungent,  Blaisdell  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  with  the  air  of  one  who,  believing  his  position  unas 
sailable,  welcomes  opposition. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  501 

Priscilla,  who  was  making  tea  at  the  moment  when  he 
began  his  neat  summary  of  Henry's  shortcomings,  paused 
in  her  preparations  in  order  to  resent  one  statement. 
"You  misjudge  Henry  Sumner  if  you  believe  him  to  be 
actuated  by  personal  ambition.  Whatever  the  merits  of 
the  case,  the  nomination  was  forced  on  him.  He  appre 
ciates  the  honor,  but  he  is  the  last  person  to  let  mere  egotism 
govern  his  conduct." 

"Unconscious  egotism,  let  us  call  it,"  replied  BlaisdeB 
with  a  twinkle  of  the  eyes. 

"Not  egotism  of  any  sort.  He  was  not  eager  for  the 
nomination,  he  is  not  eager  to  be  Mayor;  but  he  is  enthu 
siastic  about  the  movement." 

"Not  eager,  but  tenacious.  I  am  familiar  with  the 
sophistries  of  these  reformers." 

Priscilla  flushed.  Despite  his  unruffled  mien,  this 
thrust,  following  his  severe  premeditated  condemnation, 
seemed  to  her  unwarrantably  hostile.  "But  you  are  also 
aware,  Hugh,  that  I  know  him  very  well — well  enough, 
I  think,  to  vouch  for  him  on  this  particular  point.  The 
rest,"  she  added,  with  a  toss  of  her  head  which  indicated 
that  compared  with  the  other  she  regarded  it  as  a  second 
ary  matter,  "admits  of  a  difference  of  opinion.  But  if  it 
comes  to  practical  politics,  I  fail  to  see  why  Alderman 
Barnard  is  not  the  one  to  recognize  the  obligation  by 
withdrawing.  It  is  rather  doubtful  if  he  could  be  elected; 
it  is  practically  certain  that  Mr.  Sumner  could." 

Blaisdell  held  up  a  protesting  hand  in  the  face  of  this 
spirited  retort.  Her  dark  eyes  were  positively  flashing. 
What  mattered  it  ?  He  was  not  averse  under  the  circum 
stances  to  arousing  her  ire.  "Your  premises  might  be 
right  if  your  statistics  were  not  all  wrong,"  he  said  indul 
gently.  "Ex-Alderman  Barnard  has  hosts  of  friends  in 


502  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

the  Democratic  party.  All  he  needs  is  the  moral  support 
of  a  Citizens'  nomination.  As  for  your  candidate,  a  major 
ity  of  the  voters  of  both  parties  would  cast  their  ballots 
against  him — and  deservedly  so  in  my  opinion — for  the 
reason  that  he  is  not  only  a  hide-bound  aristocrat,  but 
both  narrow-minded  and  unpractical." 

Urbane  in  manner  as  Blaisdell  still  appeared,  the  asperity 
of  the  closing  words  was  so  marked  that  Priscilla  asked: 
"Why  so  belligerent,  Hugh?  It  is  not  your  wont  to  be  so 
— er — bitter.  Your  view  of  Henry  Sumner's  character  is 
neither  just  nor  novel.  You  have  conveyed  the  idea  to  me 
many  times  before  much  more  agreeably.  You  see,"  she 
pleaded,  as  she  handed  Blaisdell  his  cup  of  tea,  "you  are 
simply  forcing  me  to  be  his  champion.  Mr.  Sumner  is  my 
friend.  I  am  well  aware  that  you  dislike  him.  Why  is  it 
necessary  that  you  should  so  pointedly  remind  me  of  the 
fact?" 

While  he  stirred  his  sugar  Blaisdell  seemed  to  ponder 
this  outburst  which  had  ended  in  a  virtual  plea  for  mercy. 
He  might  have  been  the  traditional  cat  playing  with  a 
mouse.  "What  I  wish  to  remind  you  of,"  he  said  pres 
ently,  "is  that  your  friendship  for  him  stands  between  me 
and  you.  But  for  this  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that 
I  should  be  the  happiest  of  men." 

She  shook  her  head  decisively.    "You  deceive  yourself." 

"You  cannot  deny  that  the  change  in  your  feelings 
toward  me  dates  from  the  beginning  of  your  intimacy  with 
him." 

"I  am  intimate  with  you  both.  Surely  you  are  not  so 
ungenerous,  Hugh,  as  to  begrudge  me  the  privilege  of  two 
close  friends?" 

She  had  dodged  his  question,  but  in  so  doing  had  brought 
the  conversation  to  the  point  which  he  desired,  and  he  had 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  503 

come  primed.  "  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  him  so  well  as 
you  think  you  do?" 

There  was  nothing  aggressive  in  the  remark  save  its 
unexpectedness  and  that  he  seemed  to  wait  for  a  reply, 
with  his  penetrating  eyes  fixed  on  hers  and  just  the  sus 
picion  of  a  smile  about  his  mouth. 

"Possibly  not.    I  cannot  always  fathom  even  you." 

The  blithe  response  was  almost  propitiating,  but  did  not 
deflect  his  purpose.  "You  used,  I  believe,  to  be  inter 
ested  in  a  young  woman  afterward  in  his  employ  as  a  sten 
ographer?  Miss  Brackett  was  her  name,  if  I'm  not  mis 
taken?" 

"  Mr.  Sumner.    Yes,  I  recommended  her  to  him." 

"Have  you  heard  from  her  lately?" 

"Not  since  she  moved  to  New  York." 

"If  you  inquire,  you  will  find  that  she  is  at  present  in 
Boston." 

At  this  point  of  the  concise  dialogue  Blaisdell  rose.  He 
had  disclosed  all  he  wished  to  say  at  the  moment.  He  had 
no  desire  to  be  in  at  the  death  and  could  trust  to  her  keen 
intelligence  to  make  the  most  of  the  scent  he  had  provided. 
He  started  to  take  his  leave  as  if  their  last  interchange  of 
words  had  been  simply  casual. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Hugh." 

She  was  looking  at  him  searchingly  and  appalled.  She 
seemed  to  him  suddenly  to  have  become  pale,  like  one 
whose  faith  in  human  nature  had  been  rudely  shaken. 

"  You  wish  me  to  understand — you  insinuate  by  what  you 
have  just  stated  something  discreditable  to  Henry  Sumner  ?  " 

"Discreditable,  Priscilla?  The  adjective  is  yours.  I 
doubt  if  it  is  discreditable  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word. 
My  chief  insinuation  was  that  one  rarely  fathoms  one's 
friends  so  completely  as  one  thinks." 


504  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"I  fear  that  I  have  discovered  a  new  side  of  you,  to-day, 
Hugh.  I " 

"Do  not  judge  hastily.    Wait  until  you  hear  the  truth." 

"I'm  waiting  to  hear  it  now.  I  am  not  afraid  of  it." 
She  drew  herself  up  proudly.  She  had  risen  and  was  fac 
ing  him.  The  pallor  still  lingered  on  her  lips,  and  was  it 
scorn  which  slightly  curled  them?  "I  hate  mystery,  and 
you  know  it,  Hugh." 

Though  she  had  never  gazed  at  him  like  this  before, 
Blaisdell  remained  the  embodiment  of  good  humor.  It 
suited  him  to  have  the  poison  work.  The  greater  her  re 
vulsion,  the  more  complete  the  shock  to  her  self-confidence 
and  pride,  the  more  probable  and  sweeter  his  ultimate 
victory. 

"The  trouble  is,  I'm  not  perfectly  sure  what  the  truth  is. 
I'm  still  in  the  dark  as  to  the  precise  facts.  When  I  know 
them  I  will  enlighten  you.  It  will  be  time  enough — after 
election.  If  they  are  as  I  believe,  everybody  must  know 
them  sooner  or  later." 

This  was  explicit  so  far  as  it  went,  but  it  left  her  tanta- 
lizingly  at  a  loss.  Her  wits  were  buzzing  with  cruel  con 
jecture.  Henry  involved  with  Miss  Brackett?  Such  was 
the  unit  of  Hugh's  insinuation.  Nothing  discreditable? 
There  was  only  one  construction  which  could  be  put  on 
this  assurance — that  he  was  seriously  devoted — even  en 
gaged  to  her.  Engaged  ?  Why  not  married  ?  For  a  mo 
ment  Priscilla  stood  spellbound  by  the  amazing  thought. 
This  was  what  Hugh  meant — married.  A  wave  of  crimson 
mounted  to  her  eye-brows  and  she  tingled  hotly  with  the 
fell  surprise.  He  the  long-suffering,  he,  the  eternally 
faithful,  had  succumbed.  She  had  exhausted  his  pa 
tience,  worn  out  his  fealty.  Or  had  he  tired  of  her? 
Priscilla  felt  like  gasping.  Should  she  laugh  or  should  she 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  505 

cry?  While  she  stood  thus  paralyzed  by  the  shock  of 
bewilderment,  she  became  aware  that  BlaisdeU  was 
regarding  her  with  an  expression  where  triumph  and 
covetousness  were  mingled,  as  though  he  felt  that  the  right 
to  exult  had  already  given  him  fresh  license  to  woo.  Im 
probable  as  it  was  that  a  man  so  able  and  shrewd  as  he 
would  have  hinted  at  such  a  revelation  if  it  were  void  of 
truth,  her  mind  repelled  the  conclusion  that  Henry  had 
been  playing  fast  and  loose  as  something  too  incredible  for 
belief.  If  he,  the  faithful  dog,  had  gone  astray,  her  trust 
in  human  nature  was  indeed  shaken  forever.  It  would  be 
like  the  wandering  of  the  fixed  stars  from  their  courses. 
Not  that  she  had  a  claim  on  him;  it  was  the  dire  incon 
sistency  with  his  own  consistent  self — the  self  she  supposed 
she  could  now  read  like  a  book — which  she  deplored. 
Loyalty,  pride,  and  above  all,  the  instinctive  refusal  of  her 
positive  nature  to  acknowledge  itself  deceived  in  her  long 
cherished  conviction  bade  her  exclaim: 

"  I  understand  now  what  you  mean.  But  I  do  not  believe 
it;  it  is  impossible.  He  would  have  told  me  himself,  if  it 
had  been  true." 

The  far-fetched  assurance  of  the  closing  plea  betrayed 
the  dauntlessess  which  shuts  its  eyes  and  stuffs  its  ears  with 
cotton  wool.  If  she  runs  amuck — was  BlaisdelPs  reflection 
— it  will  be  into  my  arms.  "  Unfortunately  for  that  view 
of  the  case,"  her  tormentor  answered  suavely,  "the  cir 
cumstances  appear  to  admit  only  one  other  alternative- 
one  of  which  he  would  presumably  have  been  the  last  to 
inform  you." 

Priscilla  stared  a  moment  before  she  grasped  his  mean 
ing.  Then  she  started;  but  she  did  not  pause  to  choose 
between  the  horns  of  her  dilemma.  Was  it  dread,  or  indig 
nation  or  sheer  obstinacy  which  impelled  her?  Her 


506  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

mind  was  on  the  rampage  and  recklessness  had  become 
the  spur. 

"In  that  event,"  she  asserted  with  defiant  lips  and 
heightened  color,  "you  will  at  least  no  longer  be  able  to 
taunt  him  with  not  being  a  man." 

Here  was  a  cavalry  charge  in  the  teeth  of  the  guns  with 
a  vengeance.  The  astounded  Blaisdell  could  not  restrain 
his  mirth.  "True,  Priscilla,  true,"  he  said,  while  his 
humorous  mouth  acknowledged  the  desperation  of  her 
sally.  "Certain  apologies  might  then  be  due  to  our  puri 
tanical  friend.  But  what  concerns  me  much  more  deeply," 
he  added — and  as  he  spoke  he  stepped  forward  and 
grasped  her  two  wrists — "is,  that  whichever  alternative  is 
true,  you  will  no  longer  have  an  excuse  for  saying  that  you 
do  not  love  me.  None  whatever." 

Holding  her  arms  apart  Blaisdell  bent  his  gaze  upon  her 
ardently  and  compellingly.  If  for  a  moment  Priscilla 
seemed  to  feel  that  this  liberty  was  the  logical  penalty  for 
so  rampant  an  indiscretion,  she  recovered  her  wits  just  in 
time  to  divine  that  it  was  preliminary  to  an  attempt  to 
embrace  her.  This  she  eluded  by  drawing  back.  At  the 
same  moment  she  vigorously  wrenched  her  hands  free,  but 
without  temper.  Anger  seemed  superfluous;  was  not  his 
very  argument  a  justification  in  a  sense  for  his  advances  ? 
She  felt  beset  by  curiosity — the  need  of  knowing. 

"  Cease  to  speak  in  riddles,  Hugh.  What  does  all  this 
mean?  Is  Henry  Sumner  married?"  She  was  calm — 
almost  matter  of  fact. 

"I  am  unable  to  answer  that  question  categorically." 
Blaisdell  paused  a  moment.  "  Mabel  Brackett,  is,  however." 

"Married?" 

He  nodded.  "I  have  her  own  word  for  it;  hearsay,  but 
definitely  reported  to  me." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  507 

"To  him?    To  whom?" 

"She  failed  to  tell  my  informant;  and  I  admit  that  the 
records  at  City  Hall  disclose  nothing.  Evidently  for  the 
sake  of  secrecy  the  happy  lover,  whoever  he  may  be, 
avoided  the  local  jurisdiction." 

Priscilla  knit  her  brows.  She  was  asking  her  questions 
with  the  prosaic  coolness  of  a  cross-examining  lawyer. 

"And  you  believe  him  to  be  Henry?" 

"The  evidence  certainly  points  that  way.  It  either  is  or 
it  isn't." 

She  winced  a  little  under  his  air  of  exasperating  elation. 
"Is  this  all  you  have  to  tell  me?" 

"All  at  present — all  I  know  at  present." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath.  "Until  it  is  proved,  I  shall 
regard  it  as — er — an  impossibility." 

"I  can't  blame  you  for  that,  Priscilla.  Such  loyalty 
does  you  credit." 

"When  do  you  expect  to  find  out?"  she  inquired  hastily. 

"Any  day.  To  hasten  disclosures  of  this  sort  on  the  eve 
of  election  might  savor  of  malice." 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  there  is  to  know  as  soon  as 
possible,"  she  replied  steadily.  "In  any  event  I  seem 
doomed  to  be  mistaken  in — to  lose  one  of  my  friends.  Both 
perhaps." 

Blaisdell  did  not  flinch  before  the  menace  of  her  grave 
suggestion.  "I  am  ready  to  stake  my  fate  on  the  out 
come,"  he  declared  meaningly.  Though  he  had  come 
primed,  he  was  not  quite  ready  to  have  his  hand  forced. 
Yet  her  impaitence  demanded  a  response  and  he  was  not 
loth  to  hasten  the  hour  of  self-vindication.  He  reflected 
a  moment.  "Let  me  see,"  he  said  slowly.  "Day  after  to 
morrow  comes  the  torch-light  parade  in  honor  of  the 
Citizens'  candidate,  I  believe.  Naturally  you  will  wish  to 


508  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

see  it  at  various  stages  of  its  progress.  If  you  will  allow 
me  to  be  your  escort  on  that  evening,  I  may  be  in  a  position 
to  supply  the  lacking  information." 

"It  will  pass  this  house.  I  shall  illuminate,  of  course. 
Why  can  you  not — 

"  That  will  not  prevent.  We  can  view  it  here  first,  if  you 
prefer.  You  hate  mystery,  I  know.  But  in  this  particular 
instance,  Priscilla,  I  invite  you  to  trust  me.  Will  you  play 
'follow  my  leader'  for  this  occasion  only?  Yes  or  no?" 

The  plan  which  he  had  in  mind  had  formulated  itself 
with  such  rapidity  that  clear-eyed  satisfaction  lent  per 
suasion  to  his  tone.  The  old  fascination — the  magnetic 
voice  of  command — seemed  to  possess  her  for  a  moment 
and  exorcise  both  repugnance  and  scruples.  He  was  in 
viting  her  to  inspect  the  proofs.  That  was  more  than 
Henry  had  ever  done  in  an  analogous  situation.  Why 
should  she  refuse?  Had  she  not  proclaimed  her  total 
disbelief  ?  Was  she  not  tremulous  to  know  ? 

"  Very  well,"  she  said.  "  Since  you  deem  mystery  essen 
tial,  I  will  not  stand  in  your  way." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

CHAUNCEY  CHIPPENDALE  drew  from  his  pocket  the  keys 
of  his  Uncle  Baxter's  residence  on  Park  Street  and  opened 
the  front  door.  As  he  walked  up  the  mall  of  the  Common 
opposite,  having  been  detained  down-town  unwontedly 
late,  the  gathering  crowd  had  reminded  him  that  this  was 
the  evening  of  the  torch-light  parade  in  honor  of  the  Citi 
zens'  candidate,  and  he  had  smiled  sardonically.  His 
cousin  Henry  in  the  limelight!  Why  not  step  in  and  view 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  509 

the  procession  from  his  uncle's  windows?  What  more 
advantageous  spot  could  be  found  than  the  old-fashioned 
iron  balcony  which  stood  out  high  above  the  sidewalk  on 
a  level  with  the  drawing-room  and  commanded  the  street 
from  the  State  House  to  Park  Street  Church  ?  He  would 
find  company,  too,  for  had  not  Blaisdell  only  the  day  before 
asked  permission  to  utilize  the  vacant  premises  for  this 
very  purpose  ? 

The  servants  still  remained  in  the  house,  but  it  pleased 
Chauncey  in  his  capacity  as  executor  not  to  ring.  He 
happened  to  have  the  duplicate  front  door  key  in  his 
pocket — had  fastened  it  to  his  own  bunch — in  order  that 
he  might  exhibit  the  house  the  following  morning  to  one 
of  his  personal  friends  who  was  thinking  of  buying  it  for 
improvement.  A  speedy  sale  was  desirable,  but  at  the 
highest  possible  price.  The  brokers  were  competing 
against  one  another,  and  scarcely  a  day  passed  when  he 
was  not  telephoned  to  on  the  subject. 

As  he  stepped  beyond  the  inner  door  into  the  rather 
bare  hall,  Chauncey  paused  to  look  about  him.  He  had 
been  an  infrequent  visitor  during  the  last  fifteen  years. 
His  uncle,  never  a  sociable  person,  had  become  more  and 
more  of  a  recluse.  Except  for  Thanksgiving  day,  he  rarely 
took  a  meal  in  the  houses  of  his  brother  or  sisters,  and 
though  he  entertained  with  old-fashioned  stateliness  when 
his  year  came  round  to  give  the  family  dinner-party,  he 
never  encouraged  his  next  of  kin  to  rely  on.  casual  hospi 
tality.  Yet  to  Chauncey  the  surroundings  were  familiar 
from  old  association,  for  nothing  had  been  changed  in 
forty  years.  Save  for  the  dinginess  apt  to  infest  the  belong 
ings  of  the  best  preserved  old  bachelors,  everything  was 
exactly  as  it  had  been  when  in  early  childhood  he  had  been 
brought  by  his  father  to  visit  his  uncle  every  Sunday  after 


510  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

church  and  partaken  of  seed  cake.  Some  of  the  quaint 
objects  which  met  the  eye — mainly  of  East  Indian  and 
Chinese  origin — had  impressed  his  youthful  imagination. 
They  still  retained  their  hold  on  it;  and  he  paused  fasci 
nated  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  the  pair  of  parti 
colored  vases,  in  the  guise  of  gaping  dragons,  flanking  the 
hall  mirror  and  the  long-handled  spear  affixed  to  the  wall 
which  tradition  declared  to  have  been  brandished  by  a 
South  Sea  Island  cannibal.  In  the  adjacent  dining-room, 
the  door  of  which  was  closed,  were  to  be  found  no  less  entic 
ing  chattels,  notably  two  squat  bronze  idols  on  either  side 
of  the  hearth,  the  carved  ivory  elephant  on  the  mantel 
piece,  the  octagonal  mahogany  wine-cooler,  and — most 
interesting  of  all — the  circular  revolving  tray  occupying 
the  centre  of  the  dinner-table,  to  twirl  which  occasionally 
had  been  the  favorite  ambition  of  his  childhood.  As  he 
turned  the  glass  knob  of  the  door  he  almost  expected  to 
behold  the  bald  head  and  reddish  brown  whiskers  of 
his  eccentric  uncle  and  to  hear  him  ask  brusquely,  though 
not  unkindly,  as  he  helped  himself  by  rotary  process  to 
the  vegetables: 

"Well,  what  brings  you  here,  I  should  like  to  know." 
During  his  preoccupation  Chauncey  had  been  aware  of 
voices.  He  was  prepared  to  encounter  some  friends  of 
Blaisdell;  but  he  halted  before  the  identity  of  those  occu 
pying  the  room — his  Cousin  Henry,  Miss  Brackett,  the 
pretty  stenographer,  Miss  Avery  and  Blaisdell,  all  closeted 
together  and  obviously  engrossed.  What  did  this  portend  ? 
Had  they  all  met  by  appointment,  and,  if  so,  why  ?  Chaun- 
cey's  ordinarily  alert  faculties  were  befogged;  he  could  not 
get  his  bearings.  It  flashed  on  him,  however,  that  the 
conversation  which  his  entrance  had  interrupted  might 
very  well  concern  Henry's  relations  to  the  fair  stenographer. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  511 

He  observed  that  she  and  Priscilla  were  seated  at  opposite 
sides  of  the  round  dinner- table.  The  former's  back,  which 
was  turned  to  him,  was  rigid  and  her  hands  were  inter 
locked  in  front  of  her.  She  was  still  in  mourning.  Pris- 
cilla's  countenance  was  tense  with  haughty  gravity.  Behind 
her  chair,  resting  his  arm  on  the  mantel-piece  so  that  it 
hid  from  view  the  carved  ivory  elephant,  stood  Henry,  look 
ing  like  a  martyr  eager  to  go  to  the  stake  in  behalf  of  his 
convictions.  The  only  one  of  the  party  who  seemed  at  his 
ease  and  as  if  he  were  enjoying  the  situation,  whatever  it 
might  be,  was  Blaisdell,  who  had  been  in  the  act  of  speak 
ing  when  he  opened  the  door. 

Surveying  the  group  Chauncey  cast  a  searching  quizzical 
glance  at  his  cousin.  "I  beg  your  pardon.  I  fear  I  am 
interrupting,"  he  said  somewhat  pointedly,  and  he  made 
a  show  of  withdrawing. 

But  Blaisdell  with  cheery  accent  restrained  him.  "  Your 
arrival  is  most  opportune,  Chippendale.  We  were  discuss 
ing  a  matter — er — which  concerns  your  family.  I  have 
had  the  misfortune  to  ask  an  impertinent  question  of 
Sumner,  and  you  come  in  the  nick  of  time  to  pave  the  way 
to  a  reconciliation — or  further  discovery." 

"There  is  no  offence,"  said  Henry,  yet  his  looks  belied  it. 
At  least  for  some  reason  the  words  evidently  came  hard. 

"But  the  difficulty  is,"  continued  Blaisdell  blandly,  still 
addressing  Chauncey,  "that  I  don't  know  exactly  how  to 
frame  my  apology.  My  offence  consists  in  having  con 
gratulated  your  cousin  on  his  marriage  to  this  lady" - 
Blaisdell  indicated  Miss  Brackett — "and  my  excuse  for 
doing  so  must  be  common  report  and  the  circumstance 
that  Miss  Avery  and  I  found  them  here  together  on  our 
arrival;  a  circumstance  which  I  freely  admit,  now  that  I 
realize  my  mistake,  was  not  conclusive,  but  was  extenuat- 


512  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ing  in  a  way  for  the  reason  that  I  happened  to  be  aware  that 
they  have  passed  several  evenings  together  of  late  under  this 
roof.  Hence,  I  incautiously  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 
our  Citizens'  candidate  had  become  a  Benedick,  and  I 
yielded  to  the  impulse  to  rally  him  on  the  interesting  epi 
sode.  Pardon  this  repetition";  Blaisdell  interjected,  turn 
ing  toward  Henry,  "but  your  cousin  should  hear  my  appar 
ent  justification  before  he  can  hazard  an  opinion." 

"I  see  no  reason  to  discuss  the  matter  further.  There 
is  no  marriage."  Again  it  was  Henry  who  spoke;  and  a 
dead  pause  followed.  So  brief  was  the  denial,  despite  its 
definiteness,  that  Blaisdell  was  content  to  let  it  speak  for 
itself  before  he  replied  with  a  laugh.  "  Exactly  what  you 
said  before,  my  dear  fellow.  I  accept  the  fact,  of  course; 
there  is  no  marriage — as  yet.  But  you  stop  short  there; 
and  I  noticed  that  each  time  the  lady  has  said  nothing. 
Moreover,  I  noticed  the  first  time  that  you  looked  at  the 
lady  before  you  answered  as  if  to  afford  her  the  opportunity 
to  speak  if  she  preferred.  I've  no  wish  to  pry  into  your 
affairs,  Sumner;  neither  has  your  cousin,  I  am  sure; 
neither  have  any  of  us.  But  please  remember  that  this  is 
almost  a  family  party.  Miss  Avery  is  one  of  your  closest 
friends.  I  appeal  to  you  if  we  are  not  justified  in  refusirg  to 
be  convinced  that  you  and  Miss  Brackett  are  not  contem 
plating  matrimony,  are  not  at  least  engaged,  and  in  asking 
whether  my  congratulations  were  not  merely  a  little  pre 
mature?" 

Blaisdell  had  never  felt  gayer  in  his  life.  He  was  ac 
complishing  his  purpose,  and  yet  he  had  kept  the  in 
vestigation  on  the  harmless  level  of  high  spirits  and  law 
ful  matrimony.  The  worst  he  could  be  accused  of  was  a 
lack  of  taste  in  forcing  personal  inquiries.  From  the  corner 
of  his  eye  he  could  observe  that  Priscilla's  expression,  de- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  513 

spite  an  effort  to  seem  amused,  was  grave  almost  to  the 
point  of  austerity.  Could  she  be  otherwise  than  humiliated 
and  disgusted  at  heart  ?  She  could  not  have  failed  to  notice 
Henry's  telltale  glance  to  which  he  had  called  attention, 
and  which  clearly  demonstrated  that  there  was  some  com 
plicity  between  the  pair.  "  Pardon  my  insistence,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  All  is  said  to  be  fair  in  love  and  war,  and  our  ex 
cuse — jf  we  need  one — must  be  that  you  are  a  public  char 
acter  and  we  are  deeply  interested  in  having  the  cat  let  out 
of  the  bag.  You  may  pledge  us  all  to  inviolable  secrecy." 

It  was  difficult  not  to  respond  to  such  contagious,  plau 
sible  badinage.  Chauncey  rose  to  the  occasion  at  once. 
Rocking  himself  on  his  toes,  he  exclaimed  gleefully: 
''Come,  Henry,  you  are  the  one  to  apologize  for  keeping 
us  so  long  in  the  dark." 

Even  Priscilla,  though  her  soul  felt  limp  and  her  pride 
at  its  lowest  ebb,  could  net  refrain  from  the  ghost  of  a  smile. 

"This  must  stop  right  here." 

The  voice  was  Miss  Brackett's.  Though  she  still  sat 
rigid  with  her  hands  interlocked  before  her,  her  expression 
as  she  listened  to  BlaisdelPs  deadly  pleasantry  had  gradu 
ally  changed  from  the  wariness  of  one  expecting  attack  to 
highly  amused  appreciation  of  what  was  being  said.  The 
unprotesting  smile  on  her  lips  gave  color  to  the  suspicion 
that  she  enjoyed  the  soft  impeachment  that  there  was 
something  between  her  and  Henry.  At  least  such  was  the 
interpretation  which  Blaisdell  put  on  it.  Moreover,  as  he 
proceeded,  he  had  derived  fresh  confidence  from  the  de 
tection  of  a  plain  gold  band  among  several  jewelled  rings 
which  sparkled  on  her  fingers.  Priscilla  also  had  detected 
this  with  dismay.  She  had  observed,  too,  that  Miss 
Brackett's  eyes  from  time  to  time  had  strayed  from  the 
speakers  to  her  own  face  as  if  she  were  curious  to  observe 


514  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

the  effect  on  her  former  benefactress  of  these  salient  in 
sinuations. 

Miss  Brackett,  though  her  tone  was  mandatory,  still  smiled 
as  if  much  edified,  and  even  loth  to  correct  a  misappre 
hension.  "'The  appearances  are  against  us,  I  admit,"  she 
continued.  "Mr.  Sumner  and  I  have  met  privately;  but 
there  was  a  reason  why.  Since  he  doesn't  choose  to  excul 
pate  himself  and  relieve  your  anxiety,  I  must — for  his 
sake.  No,  we're  not  engaged — or  married.  There  is  a 
secret  here" — she  looked  full  at  Blaisdell  as  she  spoke — • 
"but  it's  not  what  you  suspected.  Oh,  yes,  I'm  married" 
— she  unlocked  her  hands  and  held  up  the  finger  on  which 
was  the  wedding  ring — "but  it's  not  to  Mr.  Sumner.  You 
were  on  the  wrong  scent.  My  husband  is  dead — and  to 
save  you  the  trouble  of  guessing,  I'll  tell  you.  I'm  Mrs. 
Baxter  Chippendale."  She  pronouced  the  words  slowly, 
anticipating  the  sensation  they  must  provoke,  before  the 
glare  of  which  she  decorously  dropped  her  eyes.  "His 
lawful  widow,"  she  added.  "I  was  married  to  him  a  year 
before  he  die(J." 

A  blonde  young  woman  with  light  hair  inclined  to  curl 
and  blue  eyes,  she  was  the  opposite  of  Priscilla  in  appear 
ance.  She  looked  very  pretty,  though  not  in  the  best  of 
health.  Her  mourning  was  becoming  in  spite  of  a  super 
abundance  of  jet.  Secure  rather  than  aggressive,  she 
awaited  the  effect  of  the  bombshell  which  she  had  cast 
among  them. 

For  a  moment  not  a  word  was  spoken;  there  was  no 
sound.  The  statement  was  so  appallingly  explicit  that  no 
room  was  left  for  incredulity  provided  that  she  were  in  her 
right  mind.  But  Priscilla  felt  her  heart  beating  rapidly 
as  after  a  peril  which  has  passed,  and  what  she  had  just 
heard  had  become  for  her  an  anticlimax.  Instinctively 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  515 

she  looked  at  Blaisdell,  not  to  enjoy  his  discomfiture,  but 
to  proclaim  her  own  relief.  He  was  sufficiently  master  of 
himself  to  conceal  his  astonishment.  His  cherubic  counte 
nance  was  still  unruffled;  it  reflected  even  the  egregious 
humor  of  the  situation  from  the  non-personal  point  of 
view;  but  he  avoided  her  glance.  His  only  hope,  mani 
festly,  was  to  nullify  in  some  way  the  effect  of  this  over 
whelming  disclosure  by  cross-examination.  Bending  his 
brows  searchingly  on  Miss  Brackett,  he  slipped  into  the 
late  proprietor's  arm-chair  at  the  head  of  the  table,  anxious 
for  the  moment  to  resign  the  part  of  protagonist  to  one  of 
the  family,  in  order  to  listen  and  observe.  To  look  at 
Henry,  who  stood  behind  her  chair,  Priscilla  must  have 
turned  her  head.  Besides,  though  she  felt  certain  that  his 
record  was  clear,  would  it  not  be  well  to  hear  this  strange 
story  to  the  end  before  revealing  her  satisfaction  ? 

The  exuberant  Chauncey  was  the  first  to  find  his  tongue. 
"Uncle  Baxter's  widow?  Married  to  him  for  a  year? 
What  do  you  mean,  madam?"  As  an  executor  and  resid 
uary  legatee  of  his  uncle's  will,  did  it  not  devolve  on  him 
to  press  the  inquiry  ? 

"If  you  don't  believe  me,  ask  Mr.  Sumner." 

Chauncey  turned  to  his  cousin.  "Is  this  .the  fact, 
Henry?" 

"  Exactly  as  she  states  it." 

"  Humph !    How  long  have  you  known  this  ?  " 

"About  ten  days." 

"He  did  not  know  it  until  I  consulted  him  as  my 
attorney,"  Miss  Brackett,  or,  as  she  should  now  be 
called,  Mrs.  Chippendale,  saw  fit  to  remark  by  way  of 
exoneration. 

"Your  attorney?"  queried  Chauncey. 

"  I  wanted  to  know  my  legal  rights.    I  knew  Mr.  Sumner 


516  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

would  tell  me — er — honestly.     I  was  employed  for  some 
time  in  his  office." 

"I  remember  you  very  well,"  said  Chauncey.  He 
would  fain  have  added  that  it  is  a  strain  on  the  imagination 
to  find  that  a  pretty  stenographer  has  suddenly  become 
one's  aunt. 

"There  were  many  things  to  discuss  and  this  house 
seemed  the  most  secret  place  to  discuss  them.  That  ac 
counts,"  she  said  with  a  covert  smile,  "for  our  evening 
meetings.  I  had  to  convince  him,  to  begin  with,  that  my 
marriage  certificate  was  regular." 

"And  it  seems  you  have  suceeded,"  said  Chauncey 
gravely,  with  an  interrogative  glance  at  his  cousin. 

"There's  no  possible  doubt,  Chauncey,  that  this  is 
Uncle  Baxter's  lawful  widow.  They  were  married  outside 
the  state.  Uncle  Baxter  for  some  reason  of  his  own  con 
cealed  it  from  the  family.  I  have  investigated  the  matter 
thoroughly;  the  license  is  perfectly  regular.  We  have 
threshed  the  affair  out,  and  I  am  bound  to  add  that  Miss 
Brackett — I  mean,  Mrs.  Chippendale — has  shown  a  wish 
to  act  magnanimously  toward  the  family." 

"Magnanimously?"  echoed  Chauncey  with  a  touch  of 
haughtiness. 

The  light  of  relief  was  shining  also  in  Henry's  eyes,  if 
Priscilla  had  but  turned  her  head.  His  lips  had  been 
sealed  until  Mrs.  Chippendale  should  speak,  and,  as  he 
listened  to  the  taunts  of  Blaisdell  on  the  score  of  an  engage 
ment,  he  had  realized  that  he  was  at  her  mercy.  In  view 
of  her  edified  expression  and  of  certain  remarks  which  she 
had  let  fall  during  their  recent  association,  who  could  fore 
see  what  she  might  not  say  ?  The  evening  meetings  here 
had  been  at  her  suggestion.  He  had  yielded  to  her  reluc 
tance  to  come  to  his  office.  Only  a  few  moments  before 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  517 

Priscilla  and  Blaisdell  had  invaded  their  fancied  seclusion, 
she  had  indulged  in  a  thinly-veiled  reference  to  the  future 
which  let  him  understand  that  she  desired  to  share  her 
newly-acquired  wealth  with  him  after  a  decent  period  of 
mourning  had  elapsed.  While  she  did  not  tell  him  in  so 
many  words  that  her  former  foolish  infatuation  regarding 
him  still  endured,  her  solicitude  at  depriving  him  of  his 
inheritance  had  been  unmistakable.  She  had  suggested 
accepting  less  than  her  widow's  share  of  the  estate  until  he 
checked  her,  and  then  she  had  indulged  once  more  in  the 
tender  hint  which,  though  demanding  no  answer,  had  left 
him  appalled.  What  was  more,  she  had  previously  taxed 
him  in  sly  words  with  his  pusuit  of  Priscilla.  Her  senti 
mental  mood,  egged  on  by  jealousy,  might  readily  have 
seized  the  opportunity  afforded  by  Blaisdell  to  dash  his 
hopes  forever. 

He  had  escaped;  hence  he  had  become  light-hearted  on 
his  personal  account.  Yet  he  was  conscious  that  the  un 
pleasant  responsibility  rested  on  him  to  disclose  without 
delay  certain  dire  consequences  for  the  family  resulting 
from  the  new  situation  which  confronted  it. 

"It  isn't  necessary  to  go  into  details,"  he  responded. 
"I  have  made  clear  to  her  that  the  Chippendales  and 
Sumners  are  not  at  liberty  to  accept  pecuniary  favors; 
nothing  but  what  the  law  allows." 

Whatever  Chauncey's  emotions  on  the  score  of  seeing 
his  legacy  dwindle,  here  was  a  proposition  to  which  his 
aristocratic  soul  spurred  him  to  subscribe  with  dignified 
alacrity.  He  displayed  a  touch  of  his  father's  grand  man 
ner  as  he  said:  "If,  as  I  assume,  you  are  speaking  of  the 
property  under  the  will,  there  is  no  room  for  difference  of 
opinion.  Whatever  share  Uncle  Baxter's  widow  is  entitled 
to  receive  under  the  law  must  remain  hers  and  hers  only." 


518  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Uncle  Baxter's  will  was  revoked  by  his  subsequent 
marriage,"  replied  Henry.  "  That  is  the  law  in  this  state. 
It  is  as  if  there  were  no  will.  He  died  intestate." 

Chauncey  listened  with  bated  breath  to  this  terse  state 
ment.  The  will  revoked?  The  information  was  indeed 
bewildering.  Was  his  legacy  cut  off?  For  a  moment  he 
was  at  a  loss;  then  his  quick  mind  reasserted  itself .  What 
if  the  will  was  revoked  ?  His  uncle  having  died  intestate, 
the  family  would  surely  inherit  everything  which  this 
inconvenient  widow  did  not.  Half  a  loaf  would  be  better 
than  no  bread,  even  though  enjoyment  of  his  own  portion 
were  postponed  until  after  his  father's  death. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  with  the  aplomb  of  a  ready  man 
of  business.  "The  widow  takes  her  share  and  Uncle 
Baxter's  lawful  heirs,  whoever  they  may  be,  the  residue." 

In  his  absorption  Chauncey  had  taken  for  granted  that 
Henry's  pause  after  this  fell  announcement  that  the  will 
was  mere  waste  paper  signified  that  the  worst  had  been 
disclosed.  Was  it  not  the  last  straw,  designed  to  break 
the  camel's  back  ?  The  burden  of  it  was  painful,  yet  like 
a  true-hearted  gentleman,  he  refused  to  wince.  The  sur 
reptitious  marriage  appeared  to  him  a  family  disgrace; 
but  here,  as  so  constantly  in  life,  his  point  of  view  was  col 
ored  by  the  fact  that  his  own  withers  had  been  wrung.  All 
family  skeletons  are  hideous,  but  we  endure  some  better 
than  others.  Had  Henry,  for  instance,  proved  the  offender 
— even  fallen  a  victim  to  the  epidemic  then  rampant  in  the 
community  and  married  a  chorus  girl — Chauncey's  sense  of 
humor  would  doubtless  have  enabled  him  to  view  the  blot 
on  the  escutcheon  with  comparative  equanimity.  But  to 
have  this  grotesque  skeleton  pop  out  at  him  from  the  cup 
board  of  the  older  generation  was  galling  to  his  pride  no 
less  than  to  his  pocket. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  519 

"The  lawful  heirs,  whoever  they  may  be."  Henry  re 
peated  the  phrase  which  his  cousin  had  guilelessly  uttered, 
because  it  corresponded  exactly  to  his  need.  Far  from 
being  final,  his  statement  as  to  the  effect  of  matrimony  on 
a  previously  executed  will  was  a  mere  preliminary.  He 
had  paused  because  he  stood  on  the  brink  of  a  chasm  to 
the  bottom  of  which  he  must  consign  the  immediate  pecun 
iary  hopes  of  the  family. 

"And  in  the  event  that  Uncle  Baxter  has  left  a  post 
humous  child,  that  child  would  be  his  lawful  heir  and  in 
herit  to  the  exclusion  of  every  one  else  all  which  his  widow 
does  not." 

Again  for  some  moments  complete  silence  was  produced 
by  this  conscientious  endeavor  on  Henry's  part  to  epitomize 
the  complete  truth.  It  was  broken  simultaneously  by  two 
sounds — the  first  a  gasp  on  Chauncey's  part  accompanied 
by  the  ejaculation,  "A  posthumous  child?  Why,  Uncle 
Baxter  was  nearly  eighty";  the  other  an  irrepressible 
laugh. 

The  laugh  proceeded  from  Blaisdell.  It  was  the  sound 
of  mirth,  not  of  insolence;  there  was  nothing  offensive  in  it, 
though,  on  the  face  of  the  situation,  it  might  appear  to 
savor  of  merriment  at  a  funeral.  Its  essence  to  every  ear 
was  chiefly  a  sincere  but  involuntary  tribute  to  the  never- 
failing  irony  of  life.  To  behold  this  haughty  lineage  bite 
the  dust  was  partial  compensation  to  Blaisdell  for  his  own 
defeat.  Dame  destiny  had  played  into  his  hands  to  this 
extent,  even  though  she  had  proved  perfidious  in  respect 
to  the  main  issue,  and  his  philosophic  sense  of  humor  bade 
him  doff  his  cap  to  her. 

"But  such  things  happen,  and  such  is  the  case  here." 
Henry's  reply  was  addressed  to  Chauncey,  but  the  laugh 
had  not  escaped  him.  Indeed,  it  served  to  remind  him  of 


520  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

BlaisdelPs  presence,  which,  under  the  stress  of  the  family 
predicament,  he  had  temporarily  overlooked.  Pausing, 
he  turned  in  his  direction  and  said:  "This  is  essentially 
a  family  affair,  Blaisdell — and  Miss  Avery  is  a  friend  of 
Miss  Brackett's,  I  mean  Mrs.  Chippendale's.  Having 
proceeded  so  far,  I  had  better  finish.  But  I  shall  rely  on 
your  honor  not  to  speak  of  this  delicate  matter  elsewhere 
until  it  becomes  generally  known." 

There  was  no  escape  from  the  conclusion  that  the  caution 
was  deemed  necessary,  yet  it  recoiled  from  BlaisdelPs 
equanimity  as  from  india  rubber.  "I  appreciate  the  privi 
lege  of  being  the  only  complete  outsider,  and  I  shall  be 
discretion  itself,"  he  answered. 

The  retort  was  intended  no  less  for  Priscilla's  ear  than 
for  Henry's.  Though  he  had  not  yet  relinquished  the  hope 
of  detecting  some  flaw  in  the  mechanism  of  this  extraor 
dinary  family  skeleton  which  was  careering  about  the  stage 
with  all  the  variety  of  a  modern  mechanical  toy,  Blaisdell, 
with  his  inherent  faculty  for  meeting  the  inevitable,  had 
already  begun  to  face  the  serious  possibility  of  utter  frus 
tration.  The  first  symptom  of  this  was  the  query  which  he 
was  putting  to  himself  whether  the  grapes  for  which  he 
had  lately  hankered  in  the  vineyard  of  hope  might  not  be 
sour.  Sitting  silent  and  vigilant  in  his  chair,  on  the  alert 
for  some  means  of  deliverance  and  detecting  none,  he  had 
allowed  himself  to  wonder  whether  happiness  were  possible 
with  a  woman  capable  of  sympathizing  so  freely  with  this 
eccentric  scion  of  Beacon  Hill.  Would  allegiance  to  the 
latter  ever  be  compatible  with  perfect  comradeship  with 
himself?  Thus  speculating,  he  was  not  averse  to  admit 
the  taunt  that  he  was  the  only  outsider  present. 

"What  I  mean  is  that  Uncle  Baxter's  widow  expects 
before  long  to  become  a  mother,"  continued  Henry.  "  The 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  521 

child,  if  born,  will  be  the  legal  heir  to  the  remainder  of  his 
estate." 

Once  more  there  was  silence.  In  the  face  of  Henry's 
plain-spoken  language  both  the  women  lowered  their  eyes. 
No  one  could  doubt  that  from  the  Chippendale  standpoint 
the  worst  had  now  been  uttered,  for  the  catastrophe  was 
manifestly  complete.  Yet  Chauncey,  like  one  dazed  and 
expecting  the  lightning  again  to  strike,  held  his  peace  and 
waited.  There  might  be  something  still  in  reserve.  And 
after  all,  what  was  there  to  say?  It  was  Blaisdell  who 
spoke  first: 

"If  Baxter  Chippendale  has  left  a  child,  no  one  can  dis 
pute  that  legal  proposition.  Which  only  goes  to  prove  that 
truth  is  liable  to  be  stranger  than  any  fiction." 

What  appeared  at  the  first  sound  to  be  merely  a  sage 
comment  calculated  to  serve  as  oil  to  the  troubled  waters, 
arrested,  nevertheless,  Chauncey's  attention  by  the  form 
in  which  it  was  couched.  Chauncey  in  his  dire  need  was 
longing  for  a  loophole  of  escape  from  the  plight  to  which 
the  family  had  suddenly  been  reduced,  and  for  an  instant 
he  was  tempted  by  the  doubt  thus  subtly  presented.  He 
had  somehow  become  conscious  that  Blaisdell  was  speak 
ing  for  his  benefit.  What  proof  was  there  that  the  child 
was  his  Uncle  Baxter's?  This  was  what  the  other  had 
intended  to  convey.  And,  if  not  his  uncle's,  who  was  the 
father  of  this  infant  still  unborn  ?  The  only  proofs  of  pater 
nity  were  the  widow's  downcast  eyes  and  Henry's  say-so. 

Chauncey  pictured  momentarily  the  scandal  of  a  contest 
over  his  uncle's  fortune  based  on  such  a  claim.  Instinc 
tively  he  shrank  from  it  as  too  flagrant  a  breach  of  taste 
to  be  seriously  entertained;  but  though  all  his  preposses 
sions  were  shocked  by  the  lure,  the  thought  came  to  him 
unbidden  that,  if  it  had  been  anybody  but  Henry,  Blais- 


522  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

dell's  cunning  insinuation  might  have  merited  belief. 
Where  Henry  was  concerned  such  an  alternative  was 
simply  impossible.  Chauncey  smiled  grimly  at  the  re 
flection,  and  turning  suddenly  to  the  widow,  said,  by  way 
of  dismissing  the  specious  temptation  forever  as  unworthy 
of  the  notice  of  a  Chippendale: 

"Allow  me  to  congratulate  you.  The  matter  seems  very 
plain.  We — the  family,  bow  to  the  fortune  of  war." 

Before  making  this  chivalrous  announcement  Chaun 
cey,  however,  had  paused  just  long  enough  to  communicate 
the  true  import  of  BlaisdelPs  utterance.  If  the  widow 
fathomed  it,  she  gave  no  sign,  but  almost  simultaneously 
its  real  significance  dawned  on  both  the  others.  Henry 
started  angrily  and  clinched  his  fingers  in  his  palms.  He 
saw  red  and  the  indignant  words,  "I  am  prepared  to 
vouch,"  had  already  gathered  in  the  roof  of  his  mouth  in 
readiness  to  hurl,  when  Chauncey's  magnanimous  behavior 
rendered  their  use  unnecessary,  and  left  Henry  presently 
thankful;  for,  come  to  think  of  it,  what  would  his  affidavit 
be  worth  save  to  vindicate  his  own  personal  reputation  ? 

The  effect  on  Priscilla  was  less  dramatic,  for  her  reluctant 
soul  refused  at  first  to  credit  her  intelligence.  Was  that 
what  he  had  meant?  Surely  not;  he  could  not  have  de 
scended  so  low.  She  bent  an  appealing  gaze  on  Blaisdell 
to  reassure  herself  and  read  only  too  clearly  the  guilt  which 
he  not  merely  took  no  pains  to  conceal,  but  on  which  he 
obviously  plumed  himself.  His  answering  look  told  her  no 
less  plainly  than  speech  could  have  done  that  he  had  delib 
erately  staked  everything  on  this  last  demeaning  hazard 
and  gloried  in  it.  While  she  repelled  the  base  insinuation, 
Priscilla,  remembering  her  own  wanton  retort  at  their  last 
interview,  began  to  be  dimly  thankful  that  Henry's  austere 
virtue,  like  an  angel's  aureole,  bade  defiance  to  every  doubt. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  523 

It  was  its  own  searchlight  to  the  miasma  of  slander,  though 
the  steadiness  of  it  compelled  her  to  eat  her  own  words. 
In  this  moment  and  by  this  beacon  she  was  conscious  sud 
denly  that  she  was  taking  the  measure  of  them  both,  and  of 
a  feeling  which  was  almost  repugnance  for  her  former  idol. 
He  stood  revealed  to  her  at  last  in  all  the  urbane  compla 
cency  of  a  spiritual  opportunist  whose  plausible  vitality  was 
constantly  employed  in  obliterating  the  landmarks  of  the 
soul.  With  a  discerning  shudder,  she  shrank  enlightened 
from  the  easy-going  democratic  philosophy  whose  concep 
tion  of  excellence  was  to  raze  every  mountain  peak  to  the 
level  of  the  plain  with  no  more  concern  than  it  removed 
any  other  obstacle  in  order  to  erect  a  new  apartment  house. 

But  Blaisdell  was  again  speaking.  He  was  ever  a  good 
loser,  and  he  was  never  certain  that  he  had  lost.  He  had 
partially  fathomed  Priscilla's  gaze  and  deduced  therefrom 
both  some  of  her  repulsion  and  that  his  cause  was  tem 
porarily  hopeless.  Yet  in  proportion  as  his  prospects  of 
success  diminished,  the  healing  voice  of  consolation  waxed 
louder.  Perhaps  he  was  to  be  congratulated  after  all  that 
she  had  seen  fit  to  reject  his  princely  offer.  Was  it  not  well 
that  she  had  let  him  see  to  what  limits  caprice  would  carry 
her  before  it  was  too  late?  Caprice,  restless  caprice,  had 
been  her  besetting  weakness  from  the  first  hour  of  their 
acquaintance. 

"Hark,"  he  said,  "I  hear  music.  It  must  be  the  pro 
cession.  We  must  not  forget  what  we  came  to  see." 

This  reminder  was  felt  by  all  to  be  timely.  A  diversion 
was  welcome,  for  what  further  could  be  said  at  the  present 
moment  which  would  relieve  the  situation  for  any  one  of 
them  ?  The  new  Mrs.  Chippendale  did  all  she  could  to 
relieve  it  by  taking  her  departure  in  the  cab  which  was 
waiting  for  her  at  the  door.  There  are  certain  surprises 


524  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

in  life  for  which  the  only  palliatives  are  time  and  silence, 
and  this  was  one  of  them.  But  Blaisdell's  bonhommie  did 
not  fail  him.  After  the  widow's  departure  he  took 
upon  himself  to  lead  the  way  up  one  flight  to  the  iron 
balcony  overlooking  the  street.  The  procession  was  close 
upon  them  when  they  arrived,  and  the  sloping  descent  from 
the  State  House  was  alive  with  a  glittering  body  of  march 
ing  torch-bearers  who  made  up  in  enthusiasm  for  what 
they  lacked  in  numbers.  They  bore  transparencies  with 
magnified  portraits  of  Henry  and  pithy,  semi-humorous 
mottoes  inciting  the  citizens  to  do  their  duty.  An  old- 
fashioned,  antediluvian  parade,  so  Blaisdell  said  to  him 
self;  the  same  outlay  applied  quietly  in  various  directions 
would  do  much  more  good.  He  entered  gaily  into  the  spirit 
of  the  occasion  and  at  the  proper  moment,  when  no  one 
was  observing  him,  despatched  a  messenger  to  inform  the 
advancing  column  that  the  balcony  had  been  transformed 
into  a  reviewing  stand  by  the  presence  of  its  candidate. 

A  sudden  halt  on  the  part  of  the  torch-bearers,  followed 
by  a  fresh  and  more  concerted  outburst  of  Roman  candles, 
attested  that  this  news  had  spread  promptly  and  rapidly. 
Park  Street  was  one  blaze  of  light  against  a  background  of 
tree  trunks  and  wide  spreading  branches  on  the  Common. 
Certain  of  the  residents  had  become  prodigal  of  Bengal 
lights  and  other  fireworks.  In  another  moment  there  were 
loud  cheers  and  calls  for  Henry,  who  had  believed  himself 
incognito.  "Come,  Sumner,  this  is  not  the  occasion  to 
hide  your  light  under  a  bushel,"  cried  Blaisdell,  and  even 
Chauncey,  whose  feelings  were  almost  too  deep  for  words, 
derived  a  temporary  fillip  from  seizing  his  cousin  by  the 
arm  in  order  to  drag  him  forward.  Recalcitrant  for  a  mo 
ment  from  awkward  diffidence,  the  candidate  advanced  to 
the  front  of  the  balcony  and,  lifting  his  hand  to  stay  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  525 

furious  applause,  proceeded  to  make  a  brief  address  to  his 
constituents.  He  was  no  orator;  there  was  no  denying 
that.  But  Blaisdell  had  forgotten  how  well  he  could  speak 
—how  clearly  and  completely  to  the  point,  with  a  touch  of 
proselytizing,  intemperate  zeal  such  as  is  liable  to  make 
converts.  Might  it  not  have  been  just  as  well  to  let  sleep 
ing  dogs  lie?  Blaisdell,  turning,  saw  by  the  light  of  the 
torches,  Priscilla's  profile,  and  realized  that  she  was  intent 
on  the  performance  and  proud  ofit. 

While  his  cousin  was  still  speaking,  Chauncey  managed 
to  slip  away.  He  was  in  no  mood  for  small  talk,  pleasantry, 
or  political  enthusiasm.  Elastic  as  he  was  by  temperament, 
he  knew  that  fate  had  dealt  him  a  stunning  blow.  The 
loss  of  the  money  meant  the  total  disarrangement  of  his 
financial  programme  at  a  moment  when  he  had  deemed 
himself  exempt  from  further  anxiety.  To  be  despoiled 
in  so  extraordinary  and  summary  a  fashion  of  the  re 
serves  on  which  he  had  counted  as  a  buffer  against  the 
chances  of  war  and  wherewith  to  recoup  his  previous 
losses  was  a  depressing  catastrophe  for  any  man.  And 
besides  the  pecuniary  loss,  there  was  the  notoriety  and 
family  disgrace.  Other  old  men  might  become  the  prey 
of  their  stenographers,  just  as  other  young  men  might 
rush  into  matrimony  with  chorus  girls  and  the  like,  but 
the  Chippendales  had  always  been  exempt.  That  was 
the  sort  of  thing  they  never  did;  their  record  was  con 
spicuously  clear;  and  now  one  of  them  had  done  it.  How 
terribly -his  father  would  feel;  it  would  gall  him  to  the 
quick,  for  the  family  reputation  was  his  dearest  hobby. 
The  most  desirable  presumption  was  that  his  uncle  was 
crazy;  but  this  did  not  wipe  out  the  mortifying  episode. 
What  material  for  the  yellow  newspapers  when  they  once 
got  wind  of  it !  And  ultimate  concealment  was  out  of  the 


526  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

question.  A  posthumous  son  and  heir  born  to  that  Boston 
blue-blood,  Baxter  Chippendale,  by  a  child-wife  whom  he 
married  in  his  dotage — there  was  the  blatant  truth  in  all 
its  grisly  compactness,  which  a  merciless  press  would  pres 
ently  vie  in  exploiting  for  the  entertainment  of  a  carrion- 
loving  public. 

And  what  would  his  Aunt  Georgiana  say?  He  had 
already  wondered,  and  he  asked  himself  the  question  again 
when,  having  passed  the  State  House,  he  reached  her  front 
door.  She  had  not  gone  to  bed.  On  the  contrary,  the  lights 
were  still  burning  on  every  story,  showing  that  she  had 
been  illuminating  in  honor  of  Henry.  As  he  glanced 
upward  he  discerned  dusky  figures  behind  the  white 
shades  in  the  act  of  extinguishing  the  row  of  candles  in 
the  drawing-room  windows.  Climbing  the  stairs  at  a 
bound  without  ceremony  he  found  Miss  Georgiana  super 
intending  the  process.  A  dread  of  fire  was  among  her 
foibles,  and  only  her  intense  ardor  in  behalf  of  Henry  had 
induced  her  to  run  the  risk  of  burning  down  the  house 
through  contact  of  the  candle  flames  with  the  draperies. 
Ascribing  Chauncey's  appearance  at  this  late  hour  to  a 
desire  to  congratulate  her  on  her  loyalty,  the  old  lady 
beamed  upon  him. 

"Well,  Chauncey,  it  was  a  great  success,  wasn't  it? 
Did  your  father  illuminate?" 

"I  feel  confident  that  he  did,  Aunt  Georgiana." 

"It  isn't  often  nowadays  that  one  of  the  family  does 
something  public-spirited.  They're  all  too  intent  on  mak 
ing  money.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  were  elected. 
I  wonder  where  he  was  this  evening.  Thank  heaven,  we've 
escaped  a  conflagration,"  she  added,  for  the  last  candle 
had  just  been  put  out  by  the  superannuated  maid. 

Disregarding  this  dig  at  himself,  Chauncey  proceeded  to 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  527 

inform  her  that  he  had  just  left  Henry  perorating  to  a 
throng  of  admirers,  and  the  servant  having  by  this  time 
withdrawn,  he  disclosed  to  her  the  news  which  had  brought 
him.  "I've  something  serious  to  tell  you,  Aunt  Georgiana. 
So  prepare  yourself  to  be  startled.  Uncle  Baxter  has  left 
a  wife,  who  has  just  turned  up.  Moreover — 

"What?  A  wife?"  she  gasped.  "What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"A  lawful  wife.  Moreover" — Chauncey  leaned  for 
ward  and  whispered  the  rest  in  her  ear  as  if  he  felt  that 
her  sensibilities  as  a  maiden  lady  would  be  in  some  meas 
ure  spared  by  this  consideration. 

For  an  instant  Miss  Chippendale  looked  as  if  she  were 
about  to  have  a  stroke  of  apoplexy.  But  anger  and  curi 
osity  soon  got  the  better  of  her  agitation.  "A  child? 
Baxter — a  child?  Why,  it's  improper,  Chauncey!"  she 
almost  shouted. 

"Far  be  it  from  me  to  disagree  with  you.  And  there  are 
— er — legal  consequences  which  make  the  matter  even 
worse." 

"Worse?  How  could  it  be  worse?  Improper  is  the 
only  word  to  express  it."  She  was  sitting  bolt  upright  now, 
plying  her  peacock  feather  fan.  "Who  told  you?  Who  is 
the  woman?  What  does  it  all  mean?" 

Chauncey  imparted  the  complete  details  with  fluent 
brevity.  When  he  had  finished  his  aunt  lay  back  in  her 
chair  as  if  familiarity  with  the  scandal  had  made  her 
limp.  "Why,  Baxter — you  old  rat,"  she  murmured;  after 
which  she  declared,  "We've  never  had  a  family  skeleton 
before." 

"And  the  peculiarity  of  this  one  is  that  before  long  it 
will  be  alive  and  kicking,"  Chauncey  could  not  refrain  from 
suggesting. 


528  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

<  The  humor  of  this  remark  pleased  him— the  only  foil  to 
a  dark  outlook,  and  he  rose  to  depart.  There  was  his 
father  still  to  be  informed  of  the  catastrophe,  and  subse 
quently  the  suppressed  mirth  of  the  city  to  be  encountered, 
not  to  mention  the  worry  of  his  finances.  As  he  walked 
down  Beacon  Street  his  aunt's  allusion  to  his  lack  of  public 
spirit  and  absorption  in  money-getting  lingered  in  his 
mind.  She  was  fond  of  badgering  him  about  his  want  of 
culture  and  had  never  reconciled  herself  to  his  having  owed 
his  start  down- town  to  prominence  on  the  foot-ball  field; 
but  her  tartness  was  apt  to  leave  his  buoyancy  unim 
paired. 

To-night,'  in  his  chastened  condition,  he  found  himself 
admitting  that  for  a  member  of  one  of  the  first  families  of 
Boston  he  was  imperfectly  educated  and  probably  a  little 
selfish.  Somewhat  deficient,  too,  in  reverence?  It  had 
seemingly  been  otherwise  with  the  older  generation;  they 
were  not  daft  on  athletic  prowess  and  money-making. 
Henry  was  more  like  them — but  Henry  would  always  be 
a  crank;  and  his  own  father  had  never  been  a  crank,  though 
he  still  knew  his  Horace  and  Daniel  Webster  by  heart. 
Why  was  he  only  half  educated  ?  What  was  the  trouble  ? 
He  could  hardly  throw  the  blame  on  Harvard  College — 
for  he  had  not  given  the  college  a  chance.  There  had  been 
plenty  of  facilities  for  study,  but  it  was  not  the  fashion  of 
his  set  to  take  advantage  of  them.  Perhaps  his  ignorance 
was  in  the  air;  the  desire  to  make  money  was,  at  all  events. 
It  cost  so  very  much  more  than  formerly  for  the  first 
families  to  live. 

One  thing,  however,  he  was  muscular  and  healthy,  and 
not  afraid  of  work.  At  least  he  could  claim  that  the  younger 
generation  were  manly  and  knew  how  to  enjoy  life.  Chaun- 
cey  braced  himself  with  this  more  comforting  thought  and 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  529 

squared  his  shapely  shoulders.  He  shared,  too,  with  the 
older  generation  the  family  pride — and  it  was  grievously 
touched.  Confound  Uncle  Baxter — why  had  he  defaced 
the  ancestral  tree  ?  He  would  be  able  to  hold  his  head  up 
— for  family  disgrace  was  no  longer  potent  in  the  world 
as  once  and  every  tub  stood  on  its  own  bottom — but  the 
lustre  of  the  Chippendale  record  was  indisputably  tar 
nished  by  this  senile  marriage.  By  one  of  that  older 
generation,  too — an  eccentric  all  his  days,  but  nevertheless 
a  Chippendale. 

The  lights  in  the  paternal  mansion  were  still  burning. 
Chauncey  found  his  father  in  the  library  with  the  latest 
volume  relative  to  the  disputed  military  operations  of  the 
Civil  War  open  on  his  lap,  but  his  head  was  nodding.  He 
appeared  a  little  mortified  at  having  been  caught  napping, 
and  held  up  the  volume  for  his  son's  inspection.  . 

"I've  always  maintained  that  McClellan  was  not  backed 
up  by  the  civilians  at  Washington,  but  this  book  demon 
strates  that  he  was  a  great  procrastinator." 

It  was  typical  of  Mr.  Chippendale's  progressiveness  that 
he  was  capable  of  owning  up  to  error  even  at  the  expense 
of  a  pet  theory.  Something  perhaps  in  his  son's  expres 
sion  led  him  to  inquire:  "But  what  brings  you  here  so  late, 
my  boy  ?  Your  mother  has  retired.  You  have  seen  Hen 
ry's  cohorts,  I  assume.  I  may  say  it  is  one  of  the  regrets  of 
my  life  that — er — circumstances  have  not  shaped  them 
selves  so  that  public  life  was  open  to  me." 

Chauncey  was  glad  to  hear  that  his  mother  had  gone  to 
bed.  Her  horror  at  the  news  which  he  had  to  tell  would 
have  served  merely  to  heighten  his  own  perturbation.  His 
father  might  take  it  hard — but  after  all,  he  knew  that  he 
could  rely  on  his  father's  dignity,  and  he  felt  the  need  of 
guidance.  Had  he  been  too  precipitate  in  congratulating 


530  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

the  widow  on  her  good  fortune  and,  so  to  speak,  legitimatiz 
ing  his  uncle's  unborn  heir  ? 

He  began  by  cautioning  his  father  as  he  had  his  aunt  to 
be  prepared  for  a  sensation,  but  it  was  evident  from  Mr. 
Chippendale's  violent  and  distressed  start  when  the  news 
was  revealed  that  secret  matrimony  on  his  brother's  part 
was  one  of  the  last  contingencies  the  listener  would  have 
imagined. 

"My  brother  Baxter  married?  And  to  whom?  Hen 
ry's  stenographer?  My  dear  boy,  you  are  surely  dream 
ing." 

"Unfortunately,  father,  it's  the  gospel  truth.  What's 
more,  there's  a  baby — coming." 

Mr.  Chippendale  looked  aghast  at  his  son  in  horrified 
blank  amazement.  He  said  no  more  at  the  moment,  but 
joining  the  tips  of  his  fingers  he  waited  to  hear  the  rest. 
His  refined  features  wore  a  pained  flush,  but  he  was  obvi 
ously  intent  on  schooling  himself  to  face  the  bitter  blow 
with  becoming  fortitude.  Was  he  assisted  in  so  doing  by 
the  reflection  that  his  brother's  life  had  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  been  a  sealed  book  to  him:  and  that  they  had 
virtually  been  estranged  since  middle  manhood  ?  Yet  the 
responsibility  could  not  be  wholly  evaded;  it  clamored  for 
recognition;  for  were  they  not  of  the  same  hitherto  irre 
proachable  stock  ? 

He  sat  listening  while  Chauncey  narrated  the  details, 
interrupting  now  and  then  to  ask  a  question  and  revealing 
his  further  concern  on  learning  that  the  legacies  of  all  his 
children  had  been  cut  off  by  the  revocation  of  the  will.  At 
length  he  uttered  the  commentary:  "I  have  lived  to  see 
many  strange  things  happen  in  Boston,  but  this  is  the 
most  unexpected  of  all.  I  do  not  question  your  uncle's 
right  to  choose  a  wife,  but — er — for  one  of  his  social  stand- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  531 

ing,  with  a  foot  in  the  grave,  this  surreptitious  marriage 
was  certainly  unseemly." 

"  Call  it  an  ugly  mess,  father,  and  be  done  with  it,"  cried 
Chauncey,  throwing  overboard  for  the  occasion  his  half- 
formed  purpose  to  cultivate  reverence. 

Mr.  Chippendale  mused  a  little.  "Apparently  there  is 
nothing  to  be  done  to  better  the  situation,"  he  remarked 
tentatively. 

"Henry  assures  me  that  he  has  made  a  thorough  inves 
tigation  and  that  the  marriage  was  perfectly  regular." 

His  father  inclined  his  head,  and  pondered  the  matter  in 
silence  for  a  moment  longer.  "And  this  lady — the  bride" 
—Mr.  Chippendale  pronounced  the  word  with  the  reluctant 
resolution  of  one  nerved  to  swallow  castor  oil — "where  is 
she  staying?" 

Chauncey,  who  had  neglected  to  inquire,  hazarded  the 
opinion  that  presumably  it  was  at  the  South  End. 

"Find  out  for  me  as  soon  as  you  can,"  continued  his 
father.  "I  shall  feel  it  my  duty  to  call  on  her." 

"To  call  on  her?"  Though  Chauncey  spoke  inter 
rogatively,  it  was  not  by  way  of  challenge.  His  laugh  ex 
pressed  not  merely  personal  solace  but  admiration.  His 
father  was  going  him  one  better  as  regards  magnanimity. 

"  She  is  my  brother's  wife,  and  as  such  I  feel  it  incum 
bent  on  me  to  pay  her  my  respects,  however  distasteful 
the  association  on — er — abstract  grounds,"  explained  Mr. 
Chippendale  quietly. 

"You  won't  be  disappointed  in  her  looks,  I'll  say  that 
for  her,"  was  the  answer,  after  which  the  exuberant 
Chauncey  indulged  in  this  philosophic  tribute:  "When  it 
comes  to  a  tight  place,  what  a  game  sport  you  always  are, 
father." 

Mr.  Chippendale  sighed  and  his  lip  quivered,  but  he 


532  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

did  not  disclaim  the  filial  tribute.  "No  other  course  is 
open  to  us,"  he  said  gravely.  "We  cannot  afford  to  wash 
our  dirty  linen  in  public,  even  if  there  were  reasons  for  so 
doing.  Good-night,  Chauncey,"  he  added  rising.  "Your 
news  has  left  me  a  little  shaky,  and  I'll  go  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  city  election  resulted  in  the  choice  of  the  easy-going 
Democratic  candidate  for  mayor,  as  nearly  everybody  had 
expected.  The  surprise  of  the  ballot  for  most  people  was 
that  ex-Alderman  Barnard,  the  broken-winded  hack  of 
the  minority  party,  was  third  in  the  race — a  poor  third- 
receiving  several  thousand  less  votes  than  the  despised 
Citizens'  candidate.  Here  was  a  moral  victory  for  inde 
pendence  in  municipal  politics;  also  for  Henry  personally, 
in  whose  honor  the  Sphinx  Club  gave  a  complimentary 
dinner.  Some  of  the  solid  business  men,  while  deploring 
a  continuance  of  loose  methods  at  City  Hall,  comforted 
themselves  with  the  reflection  that  an  accommodating 
and  eloquent  Celt  might  be  less  trying  and  more  prac 
tical  than  a  stern  and  unapproachable  Puritan  who 
would  poke  his  nose  into  everything  without  tactful  dis 
crimination. 

The  election  took  place  in  December.  During  the  fol 
lowing  April  Congress  declared  war  against  Spain,  and  all 
minor  controversial  problems  in  Boston  became  over 
shadowed  by  the  burning  question — are  we  trying  to  steal 
Cuba?  The  martial  clamor  of  the  masses  elsewhere, 
whose  humanitarian  instincts  were  stirred  and  who  "re 
membered  the  Maine,"  had  forced  the  hand  of  the  govern- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  533 

ment  while  Boston  was  still  flattering  itself  that  the  oratory 
at  Washington  was  merely  bluster.  Half  of  surprised  Bos 
ton  shook  its  head  disapprovingly  and  believed  in  an 
ulterior  purpose.  The  forbidden  fruit  was  ripe,  and  though 
the  tree  was  being  shaken  in  the  name  of  liberty,  Uncle 
Sam  could  be  relied  on  to  see  that  it  fell  into  his  basket- 
such  was  the  sinister  prediction  which  many  worthy  people, 
our  friend  Harrison  Chippendale  among  the  number, 
indulged  in.  A  war  for  the  sake  of  humanity  was  laudable 
if  sincere  and  necessary;  but  was  not  the  freeing  of  the 
Cubans  merely  a  subterfuge  to  conceal  subsequent  spoli 
ation  ? 

Some  color  was  given  to  this  conscientious  dread  by  the 
attitude  of  a  portion  of  the  community.  Blaisdell  was  a 
case  in  point,  a  shining,  persuasive  exemplar.  He  was  one 
of  those  who,  having  referred  to  the  war  as  both  righteous 
and  necessary,  would  wink  knowingly  at  the  proper  mo 
ment.  "  What  else  could  we  do  ?"  he  would  inquire.  "  We 
had  to  interfere;  and  old  mother  Spain  is  a  proud  nation. 
The  psychological  moment  had  arrived,  for  common  hu 
manity  demanded  that  we  cleanse  our  back-yard  and 
guarantee  the  independence  of  long-suffering  Cuba.  If 
you  inquire  as  to  the  final  outcome,  the  reply  may  fairly  be 
that  we  may  leave  this  to  destiny."  Here  it  was  that  the 
wink  came  in.  "When  we  consider  how  wealthy  the  island 
is  and  how  very  close  to  our  shores,  and  of  what  highly  in 
flammable  material  these  patriots  are  composed,  is  it  not 
conceivable— is  it  not  probable  that,  in  order  to  save  the 
cutting  of  more  throats,  they  themselves  may  invite  us 
some  fine  day  to  annex  this  fair  aspirant  for  freedom  to 
our  galaxy  of  states?" 

"  Which  means,  I  see,  the  sooner  the  better  from  your 
point  of  view,"  answered  Priscilla,  who  happened  to  be 


534  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

listening  when  Blaisdell  was  thus  exploiting  the  theme  in 
the  presence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Avery,  for  the  inventor  was 
among  those  who  harbored  solicitude  on  the  subject. 

"Certainly;  the  sooner  the  better.  Why  not?  If  des 
tiny  not  greed  is  responsible,  the  national  conscience  re 
mains  clear.  And  as  for  the  welfare  of  the  islanders,  can 
any  one  doubt,  apart  from  ethical  considerations,  that 
annexation  would  be  by  far  the  best  fate  in  the  long  run  ?" 

"But  we  mustn't  reason  it  out  in  cold  blood  like  that — 
there's  the  point,  Hugh.  It's  wrong.  Our  whole  justifi 
cation  for  going  to  war  with  Spain  is  to  secure  them  their 
complete  independence,  and  to  remain  unconscious  of 
anything  else." 

"Which  I  should  be  the  first  person  to  offer  them  and 
the  last  to  withhold  so  long  as  they  desire  it."  Thereupon 
Blaisdell,  who  seemed  to  be  brimming  over  with  amiable 
candor,  turned  to  Mr.  Avery  and  said:  "Priscilla  insists 
that  it  is  incumbent  on  us  to  shut  our  eyes  tight  so  that  the 
left  hand  cannot  possibly  know  what  the  right  hand  is 
doing." 

Not  having  been  behind  the  scenes  on  previous  occa 
sions,  Mr.  Avery  did  not  know  the  secret  of  his  daughter's 
impetuosity.  The  idea  had  for  some  time  been  germinating 
in  his  mind,  planted  there  through  sundry  hints  from  his 
wife,  that  her  marriage  with  Hugh  was  probable  and  the 
best  thing  which  could  befall  her.  Ascribing  what  seemed 
to  him  the  slightly  exaggerated  conviction  of  her  tone  to 
a  kink  of  the  eternal  feminine  growing  out  of  some  lover's 
quarrel,  Mr.  Avery  said : 

"I  sympathize  with  your  scrupulousness,  my  dear.  But 
Hugh  simply  means  that  the  best  intentions  on  the  part  of 
our  people  and  government  are  liable  to  be  set  at  naught 
by  ethnological  considerations  beyond  our  control." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  535 

"  Exactly.  One  would  think  that  very  plain.  But  now 
adays  Priscilla  seems  to  discover  signs  of  an  ulterior  pur 
pose  in  nearly  everything  I  say." 

Though  he  claimed  to  feel  injured,  Blaisdell's  dogged 
speech  had  as  a  mainstay  his  growing  readiness  to  declare 
that  the  grapes  were  sour.  His  tone  was  meant  to  convey 
to  the  initiated  that  the  logical  punishment  of  her  open 
tendency,  ever  since  that  fateful  evening  on  Park  Street, 
to  challenge  most  of  his  statements,  was  that  it  depreciated 
her  fitness  as  a  wife. 

On  her  side,  as  she  listened,  Priscilla  asked  herself  what 
better  occasion  she  could  have  to  enlighten  her  father  in 
regard  to  the  state  of  her  heart.  For  she  had  guessed  that 
he  had  entertained  the  hope  of  her  marriage.  At  the 
same  time  she  would  be  able  to  define  to  Blaisdell  more 
clearly  than  she  had  found  the  opportunity  yet  to  do  the 
deep  distrust  which  his  conduct  had  inspired  in  her.  Nei 
ther  of  them  had  seen  fit  to  allude  directly  to  the  circum 
stances  of  that  meeting.  The  sensational  facts  were  still 
a  secret  save  to  those  to  whom  they  had  been  divulged. 
The  press  had  not  yet  unearthed  them,  and  Mrs.  Chippen 
dale's  child  was  still  unborn.  But  Priscilla  felt  that  the 
chief  outcome  of  the  episode  for  her  was  the  light  thrown 
on  Blaisdell's  character— a  light  which  gave  a  new  inter 
pretation  to  every  action — almost  to  every  word  of  his  in 
their  past  relation.  Comrades,  in  a  sense,  they  might  still 
remain  for  the  sake  of  that  past,  but  lovers— impossible 
henceforth. 

"Yes,"  she  rejoined.  "It's  melancholy  but  true  that 
Hugh  and  I  have  agreed  to  disagree  on  all  the  fundamental 
questions  of  life." 

The  vast  scope  of  this  protestation  led  Mr.  A  very  to 
continue  to  believe  that  he  was  privy  to  a  lover's  quarrel. 


536  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

But  his  wife,  detecting  its  genuineness,  indulged  in  a  per 
plexed  murmur. 

"Yet  I  remember  the  time,  Priscilla,  when  every  one  of 
Hugh's  opinions  was  as  good  as  law  to  you.  You  thought 
them  such  common-sense,  and  uplifting,  too." 

"Yes,  mother.  But  I  was  much  younger  then.  It  is 
never  too  late  to  learn  to  think  for  one's  self." 

The  air  of  simple  finality  with  which  she  said  this  nettled 
Blaisdell,  though  he  congratulated  himself  in  the  same 
breath  on  being  well  rid  of  her.  The  eyes  which  he  felt 
searching  him  brought  vivid  reminders  of  the  restless 
unbalanced  Amazon  whose  vagaries  he  had  ever  distrusted. 
Such  a  one  was  no  mate  for  him.  It  even  flashed  on  him 
with  a  sort  of  joy  that  she  would  be  a  bride  well  suited  to 
the  flawless  Henry.  Yoked  together  in  the  bonds  of  matri 
mony,  could  any  couple  be  more  typical  than  they  of  all 
which  was  narrow  and  self-righteous  in  Boston  ? 

"You  must  remember  also,"  he  said,  addressing  the 
others,  "that  when  Priscilla  gets  an  idea  into  her  head,  it 
is  useless  to  try  to  stop  her.  She  might  seem  to  listen  to 
wise  precepts,  but  she  has  always  insisted  on  having  her 
own  way  ever  since  she  was  born.  I  leave  to  you  Mr. 
Avery,  if  that  is  not  the  case."  Thus  Blaisdell  retired  from 
the  field,  carrying  his  shield  with  him.  His  supple  spirit, 
twisting  even  as  he  spoke,  put  him  in  the  right  before  the 
world  and  bore  away  the  palm  of  sympathy. 

It  thus  appears  that  these  straws,  illustrating  the 
counter  currents  of  the  public  temper  concerning  the  war 
with  Spain,  led  to  certain  direct  results  far  removed  from 
that  issue.  But  Boston  never  fails  in  patriotism,  even 
though  her  better  judgment  be  offended.  Now  that  hos 
tilities  had  actually  begun,  no  lack  of  public  spirit  was 
displayed.  Her  citizens  became  lavish  of  their  time 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  537 

and  money.  Maisdell  was  one  of  the  first  to  inform  the 
authorities  that  he  could  be  relied  on  for  energetic  further 
ance  of  the  various  methods  by  which  it  was  proposed  that 
the  Commonwealth  should  manifest  its  zeal  and  for  liberal 
subscriptions.  His  Trust  Company  threw  itself  into  the 
breach  as  a  collection  agency  to  solicit  and  receive  indi 
vidual  contributions.  In  response  to  the  demand  for  re 
cruits,  so  that  Massachusetts  might  furnish,  as  she  had 
ever  done  in  the  past,  more  than  her  quota  of  troops,  there 
was  no  dearth  of  fighting  men.  The  Back  Bay  bristled 
with  volunteers  eager  to  take  part  in  the  fray,  who  solicited 
commissions — some  post  of  responsibility  on  land  or  sea; 
anything  which  offered  the  chance  to  serve  one's  country, 
while  it  catered  incidentally  to  the  spirit  of  adventure  and 
possibilities  for  glory. 

Who  should  come  into  the  Sphinx  Club  early  in  this 
demonstration,  declaring  that  he  had  enlisted,  but  Morgan 
Drake.  He  had  received  a  commission  as  captain  in  one 
of  the  new  regiments  and  was  to  proceed  to  camp  at  once 
for  purposes  of  drill  preparatory  to  departure  for  the  seat 
of  war.  While  down-town  earlier  in  the  day  he  had  en 
countered  Blaisdell,  to  whom,  in  his  ardor,  he  communi 
cated  the  information. 

"  Good  work— good  work."  Such  were  the  magnate's 
approving  words  of  congratulation.  Slapping  the  recruit 
on  the  shoulder  he  had  added  graphically,  as  though  reveal 
ing  glowing  possibilities,  "And  what  a  boost  to  your  writ 
ing,  my  dear  chap.  The  theatre  of  war— there's  material 
for  you!  Cavalry  charges  and  torpedo  boats;  perpetual 
color.  No  chance  for  introspection  or  morbid  doubts,  but 
rapid  fire  action  all  the  time.  Come  back  a  general  and 
give  us  something  snappy  and  robust  in  the  style  of  Kip 
ling  with  an  American  touch." 


538  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"What  was  the  use?  He  wouldn't  have  understood," 
was  Morgan's  reply  when  asked  at  the  club  what  his  answer 
had  been.  "After  all,  Blaisdell — damn  him — was  right. 
It  is  introspection  that  kills  my  books.  Wanted — a  burn 
ing  cause!  I've  found  one;  not  the  genuine  article;  but 
a  pretty  fair  imitation.  And  the  fellow  was  right  again,  too, 
in  saying  that  when  I  return  from  Cuba  I  shall  have  some 
thing  to  write  about.  He  thinks  that's  the  chief  reason 
why  I'm  going.  But,  oh,  lord,  what  a  hopeless  specimen 
he  is  when  it  comes  to  anything  in  life  not  written  in  capi 
tal  letters." 

Morgan  became  forthwith  a  hero  at  the  Sphinx.  His 
enlistment  was  plainly  a  gratuitous  response  of  his  spirit 
to  the  bugle  call,  for  his  forty  years  and  want  of  physical 
robustness  were  a  certificate  of  exemption  in  themselves. 
Perhaps  the  examining  physician  who  passed  him  discov 
ered  the  furnace  in  his  soul.  His  example  proved  contagious 
among  the  younger  men,  though  at  the  outset  there  was  no 
uniformity  of  sentiment  at  the  club  as  to  the  necessity  for 
the  conflict.  Of  his  contemporaries  in  age  there  were  sev 
eral  who  betrayed  signs  of  envy  of  the  opportunity. 

Morgan  Drake  and  Henry  passed  the  evening  together 
on  the  night  previous  to  the  departure  of  Morgan's  regi 
ment  for  the  south.  When  war  became  a  reality,  Henry 
had  instinctively  cast  sheep's  eyes  at  his  father's  sword. 
Though  not  wholly  free  from  the  family  doubt  voiced  both 
by  his  mother  and  Uncle  Harrison — are  we  trying  to  steal 
Cuba  ? — he  felt  the  glow  and  recognized  that,  had  he  been 
younger  and  the  need  more  imperative,  he  would  have 
enlisted  also.  But  for  the  moment  his  hands  were  tied. 
He  was  not  merely  the  mainstay  of  his  mother  and  sisters; 
it  would  ill  become  him  to  grasp  at  glory  and  desert  the 
family  in  its  hour  of  adversity  when  scandal  was  brewing 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  539 

a  bitter  cup  for  them  all  to  drink.  His  immediate  duty 
was  plain  and  he  acknowledged  the  reasonableness  of  his 
mother's  plea.  "There  is  no  dearth  of  recruits — younger 
men.  The  country  does  not  require  you  yet.  Wait  and— 
er— let  us  see  what  happens."  Eleanor  Sumner  had  never 
begrudged  to  the  cause  of  freedom  her  husband's  life;  he 
had  fallen  in  the  service  of  the  state  for  a  great  cause.  But 
the  issue  here  seemed  more  obscure  to  her  exacting  mind 
— at  least  for  the  present. 

Though  he  did  not  deem  himself  at  liberty  to  reveal  to 
Morgan  the  family  secret,  Henry  felt  no  need  of  apologiz 
ing.  Theoretically  he,  too,  was  among  those  who  envied 
his  friend  this  opportunity,  but  it  was  taken  for  granted 
between  them  that  Henry  must  stay  at  home.  Yet  in  one 
of  their  pauses  Morgan  hazarded  what  was  clearly  his  only 
doubt.  "How  does  she  take  it?"  he  asked,  as  if  he  feared 
that  his  friend's  mistress  might  not  be  equally  discrimin 
ating  and  love's  labor  thus  be  lost.  It  was  a  proud  moment 
for  Henry  to  be  able  to  reply,  "  She  volunteered  the  other 
day  to  tell  me  that  she  recognized  my  place  was  here,  and 
gave  me  at  the  same  time  to  understand  that  she  realized 
how  much  I  longed  at  heart  to  go." 

"Bravo!"  cried  Morgan.  "That  sounds  perspicuous 
at  least.  My  prophecy  may  yet  prove  true — that  she  will 
fall  some  day  into  your  arms  with  a  dull,  sickening  thud." 

Among  the  spectators  who  watched  Morgan's  regiment 
as  it  marched  past  the  State  House  and  down  Beacon  Hill 
the  following  afternoon  was  Harrison  Chippendale.  He 
had  been  calling  on  his  sister  Georgiana,  who  was  ailing, 
though  she  protested  stoutly  to  him  that  she  was  strong  as 
a  horse — and  he  came  down  the  front  doorsteps  just  as  the 
militia  were  abreast  of  the  house.  Martial  music  invari 
ably  stirred  him.  It  brought  back  his  own  youth — the 


540  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

days  when  he,  too,  was  a  soldier.  That  had  been  a  deadly 
conflict,  no  flash  in  the  pan  war.  He  was  one  of  the  few  of 
those  lining  the  sidewalks  who  lifted  his  hat  as  the  stars 
and  stripes  were  carried  by  him.  He  felt  that  the  govern 
ment  had  been  precipitate — but  these  recruits  were  cer 
tainly  a  fine  lot  of  young  fellows.  His  lip  trembled  at  the 
sight  of  them  as  they  tramped  by  to  the  tune  of  "Marching 
through  Georgia." 

When  the  regiment  had  passed  Mr.  Chippendale  crossed 
the  street  and  descended  the  steps  of  the  Common  that  he 
might  walk  home  by  way  of  the  Mall  and  observe  the  squir 
rels.  They  were  certainly  beginning  to  increase  again — no 
doubt  about  it.  He  had  noticed  a  number  with  bushy  tails 
only  a  few  days  previous,  and  here  they  were  again.  It  cer 
tainly  looked  as  though  Miss  Georgiana's  and  his  pro 
testations  were  bearing  some  fruit.  This  might  be  a  sign 
that  the  institutions  of  the  country  were  beginning  to  im 
prove.  He  hoped  so,  in  spite  of  this  untimely  war  and  the 
haunting  secret  of  his  brother's  unsavory  marriage.  Chaun- 
cey  had  told  him  by  telephone  that  morning  of  the  baby's 
birth  the  night  before.  His  visit  to  his  sister  had  been 
partly  for  the  purpose  of  imparting  this  news  to  her.  She 
had  repeated  her  stricture,  which  Chauncey  had  passed  on 
to  him,  that  it  was  improper.  Mr.  Chippendale  as  a  pro 
gressive  man  could  not  subscribe  to  this.  Nature  was  con 
stantly  harassing — hostile  even,  but  never  improper.  The 
infant  must  be  faced  like  the  rest  of  the  episode  with  be 
coming  fortitude.  Its  arrival  had  clinched  the  situation 
by  disinheriting  his  children,  and  disclosure  of  the  morti 
fying  circumstances  could  not  long  be  deferred.  He  con 
soled  himself  with  the  thought  that  he  had  called  on  the 
widow  without  delay.  He  had  tried  to  be  gracious,  and  she 
had  reciprocated  his  affability.  She  was  an  unformed  per- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  541 

son,  but  extremely  pretty.  A  young  man  might  have  been 
pardoned  for  the  infatuation,  but  for  Baxter — unless  he 
were  senile— there  was  no  excuse. 

Thus  communing  with  himself  Mr.  Chippendale  passed 
from  the  Beacon  Street  Mall  to  the  Public  Garden  and 
pursued  his  way  along  Commonwealth  Avenue.  As  he 
turned  to  mount  the  steps  of  his  own  house  he  was  accosted 
by  a  young  man,  who,  as  subsequently  appeared,  had  been 
waiting  for  him. 

"Mr.  Chippendale,  I  believe?" 

" Harrison  Chippendale;  yes,  that's  my  name." 

The  tone  was  distant.  A  challenge  on  the  owner's  part 
of  the  right  to  claim  acquaintance  was  clearly  suggested. 
At  the  same  time  Mr.  Chippendale  was  passing  through 
a  mental  struggle  whether  in  case  of  an  appeal  for  alms  it 
would  be  his  duty  to  refer  the  applicant  empty-handed  to  the 
Associated  Charities  or  he  would  give  him  a  quarter  to  be 
expended  inevitably  in  drink.  Like  the  "game  sport"  his 
son  had  depicted  him  to  be,  he  was  in  the  act  of  feeling  in 
his  pocket  when  the  individual,  whose  hands  were  behind 
his  back,  glibly  remarked:  "I  called  at  your  residence 
fifteen  minutes  ago,  but  was  told  that  you  were  out  walking. 
So  I've  waited  to  see  you." 

"What  is  it  you  wish?"  was  the  reserved,  dignified  in 
quiry.  Leaning  on  his  cane  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  Mr. 
Chippendale  barred  the  way,  though  it  was  obvious  that 
the  stranger  was  expecting  an  invitation  to  enter. 

"I  desire  your  opinion  on  a  certain  matter."  The 
speech  was  virtually  feline  in  its  gleeful  deference. 

"Pray  state  your  errand,  sir." 

The  would-be  visitor  removed  his  hands  from  behind  his 
back.  In  one  of  them  he  held  a  newspaper  which  for  the 
moment  he  thrust  into  a  side  pocket  in  order  that  he  might 


542  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

produce  a  card  which  he  presented  with  a  flourish.  "I 
represent  the  Boston  Mercury,  and  desire  the  honor  of  a 
personal  interview." 

The  Mercury  was  the  most  sensational  of  all  the  local 
newspapers.  Mr.  Chippendale  knew  it  only  by  repute; 
he  had  never  set  eyes  on  a  copy.  He  stared  at  the  card, 
but  did  not  take  it.  "A  reporter?  I  have  nothing  to  say 
to  the  press  on  any  subject.  I'm  a  private  citizen  whose 
views  are — er — unimportant.  The  public  would  not  be 
interested  in  any  opinions  which  I  might  express." 

This  was  intended  as  final.  Mr.  Chippendale  with  a 
bow  turned  about  and  began  to  ascend  the  steps.  But  the 
reporter  keeping  pace  with  him  exclaimed:  "Pardon  me, 
sir,  you  are  one  of  our  first  citizens.  As  such  every  opinion 
of  yours  carries  weight  with  this  community." 

For  an  instant  Mr.  Chippendale  was  caught  in  the  honey 
of  this  appeal.  "Not  at  my  age.  It  may  have  been  so 
once;,  but  is  no  longer.  Times  have  changed  in  Boston." 
By  this  time  he  had  reached  the  vestibule  and  was  fumbling 
for  his  keys.  But  his  complacent  companion  stood  at  his 
elbow. 

"Times  have  changed;  but  I  assure  you  that  the  readers 
of  the  Mercury " 

"It  will  be  impossible,  sir.    Good  afternoon." 

"Stop  a  moment,  Mr.  Chippendale.  Have  you  seen 
this?"  As  he  spoke  the  pertinacious  but  unruffled  scribe 
produced  and  exhibited  the  newspaper  which  he  had 
thrust  into  his  pocket.  "  I  was  about  to  say  that,  interested 
as  the  readers  of  the  Mercury  would  undoubtedly  be  by  any 
public  utterance  of  yours,  I  apply  to  you  in  this  instance 
as  the  fountain-head  of  the  information  desired." 

Ignoring  the  proffered  newspaper,  Mr.  Chippendale 
wiped  his  feet  on  the  mat  and  opened  the  front  door.  His 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  543 

courtly  instincts  restrained  him  from  closing  it  summarily 
in  the  face  of  the  intruder,  who  in  the  interval  of  time  thus 
afforded  managed  to  insinuate  himself  inside  the  hall. 

"This  concerns  your  immediate  family.  This  evening's 
Mercury  contains  an  exclusive  account  of  Mr.  Baxter 
Chippendale's  marriage,  together  with  the  interesting 
item  of  the  birth  of  a  posthumous  heir,  a  son — of  which 
last  fact  you  are  possibly  not  cognizant,  Mr.  Chippen 
dale." 

He  was  a  slim,  hatchet-faced,  rather  seedy  young  man, 
with  sharp  eyes  and  a  drooping  mustache.  The  butler, 
who  happened  to  be  turning  the  lights  on,  advanced  to 
receive  his  master's  narrow-rimmed  silk  hat  with  an  air  as 
though  he  expected  to  be  called  on  to  interfere. 

"A  child  was  born  last  night,  I  am  fully  aware.  What 
of  it,  sir?" 

"In  that  case  my  mission  is  simply  to  ascertain  the  atti 
tude  of  the  family.  The  Mercury  desires  a  statement  of 
the  affair  from  your  point  of  view.  There  are  two  sides  to 
every  question  of  public  interest." 

In  the  face  of  this  homily  Mr.  Chippendale  acted  like 
one  hypnotized.  Primarily,  to  discuss  such  a  matter  be 
fore  his  man-servant  was  out  of  the  question.  He  had  but 
to  speak  the  word  and  the  interloper  would  be  denied  a 
further  audience — cast  out  bodily.  At  the  same  time  he 
was  vaguely  sensitive  to  the  thought  that  the  press  had 
certain  rights  which  a  progressive  citizen  could  not  afford 
to  ignore  utterly.  He  was  conscious,  too,  of  a  certain  mor 
bid  curiosity  to  examine  the  obnoxious  journal  which  had 
been  exhibited  to  him.  In  another  moment,  though  he 
suspected  himself  to  be  a  craven,  he  had  led  the  way  into 
the  library  and  was  confronting  his  visitor  from  the  depths 
of  an  arm-chair  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers  touching  one 


544  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

another.  At  least  they  were  out  of  earshot  of  Miles  the 
butler. 

The  reporter  seemed  to  divine,  partially  at  least,  the 
working  of  Mr.  Chippendale's  mind;  for  without  heeding 
the  gesture  of  invitation  to  sit  down  he  unfolded  the  news 
paper  and  proceeded  to  force  the  contents  of  the  front 
page  directly  on  the  attention  of  his  host. 

Mr.  Chippendale  received  it  mechanically  and  put  on 
his  eye-glasses.  The  reporter  was  pointing  to  huge  capitals 
in  the  midst  of  which  he  discerned  his  brother's  name. 
His  head  swam  before  the  revolting  headlines  surrounded 
by  hideous  cuts  which  he  recognized  as  family  portraits- 
Baxter's,  his  son  Chauncey's,  his  nephew  Henry's,  and  the 
widow's.  He  read  with  growing  horror  the  text  setting 
forth  the  sensational  tale  with  ghoulish  extravagance. 
Nothing  was  suppressed  and  no  one's  sensibilities  were 
spared.  On  the  contrary  the  writer,  indulging  his  imag 
ination,  had  managed  both  to  exult  over  the  discomfiture 
of  an  aristocratic  stock  and  at  the  same  time  weave  a  cheap 
romance  for  the  benefit  of  the  ignorant  masses.  Such  was 
the  sum  of  the  impressions  which  Mr.  Chippendale's  out 
raged  brain  derived  from  the  perusal  of  the  sheet  which  he 
held  in  a  hand  trembling  with  indignation. 

"And  have  you  seen  fit,"  he  asked,  "to  invade  my  pri 
vacy  in  order  to  show  me  this  disgusting  screed?" 

While  Mr.  Chippendale's  eyes  were  on  the  newspaper 
his  visitor  reproduced  the  card  which  he  promptly  pre 
sented  in  response  to  these  fiery  but  august  words.  As  Mr. 
Chippendale  ignored  the  outstretched  hand,  he  laid  it  on 
a  little  table  which  held  an  electric  lamp  and  stepped  back. 
"  These  are  my  credentials.  My  name  is  Bliffel;  on  the 
staff  of  the  Mercury:' 

"Are  you  responsible  for  this  outrage?" 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  545 

"It  came  to  us  from  an  authentic  source,"  replied  Mr. 
Bliffel,  misinterpreting  the  inquiry.  "  We've  the  only 
evening  paper  which  has  it;  so  naturally  we  want  to  make 
hay  while  the  sun  shines." 

"The  private  citizen  in  this  country  has  absolutely  no 
protection  from  disgusting  notoriety."  There  was  a  sad 
dignity  in  the  words  which  should  have  carried  its  own 
reproach.  "I  suppose,  sir" — Mr.  Chippendale  picked 
up  the  card  beside  him— "Mr.  Bliffel,  I  believe— that  this 
is  what  is  known  as  journalistic  enterprise?" 

Mr.  Bliffel  appeared  to  disregard  the  stately  sarcasm  as 
a  symptom  of  a  return  to  reason. 

"We're  no  worse  than  the  others,"  he  responded  with 
genial  glibness.  "  The  newspaper  must  live.  Its  business  is 
to  circulate  news,  not  suppress  it.  The  story  is  true,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"My  brother  left  a  widow,  who  was  once  his  stenog 
rapher,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"Formerly  in  the  employ  of  your  nephew,  Mr.  Sum- 
ner,  the  late  candidate  for  mayor  on  the  Citizens'  ticket. 
And  there's  a  posthumous  child — you  admitted  that." 
Standing  on  the  hearth-rug  with  his  hands  in  his  side 
pockets  and  his  legs  apart,  the  visitor  was  obviously 
making  a  magnanimous  endeavor  to  point  out  to  his  auditor 
that  he  had  nothing  to  complain  of.  Did  not  this  first 
citizen  stand  in  need  of  enlightenment  on  the  score  of  what 
every  freeborn  citizen  of  a  democracy  was  expected  to  put 
up  with?  "That's  all  we've  said,"  he  continued,  "though 
of  course,  we  had  to  put  it  picturesquely.  An  octogenarian 
blue-blood  marries  his  typewriter  and  her  posthumous  son 
becomes  the  heir  to  millions.  Rather  striking  for  conserv 
ative  Boston.  King  Cophetua  and  the  beggar  maid  are 
back  numbers  to  the  general  public,  but  it'll  want  to  read 
about  this." 


546  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Mr.  Chippendale  groaned  and  made  an  impatient  pass 
before  his  eyes  as  if  he  would  obliterate  from  his  memory 
the  abhorrent  headlines. 

-aAnd  what  I  am  applying  to  you  for  on  behalf  of  the 
readers  of  the  Mercury''  persisted  Mr.  Bliffel,  captivated 
by  his  own  lucid  reasonableness,  "is  to  ascertain  the  atti 
tude  of  your  family  on  the  subject.  We  have  no  axe  to 
grind;  it  is  our  duty  to  be  impartial.  Perhaps  you  will  be 
good  enough  to  tell  me,"  he  added,  adopting  a  business 
like  briskness,  "whether  you  concede  the  legality  of  the 
marriage  and  the  paternity  of  the  child,  or  whether  you 
and  those  you  represent  intend  to  put  up  a  fight  to  retain 
your  brother's  millions." 

There  was  a  pause.  Mr.  Bliffel  believed  that  he  had 
convinced  his  hearer. 

"I  have  called  on  my  brother's  widow  and  she  has  re 
ceived  me.  My  brother's  child  will  inherit  its  share  of  my 
brother's  property  and  presumably  bear  his  name."  The 
calmness  with  which  Mr.  Chippendale  uttered  these  delib 
erate  words  resembled  that  which  proceeds  a  storm,  but  Mr. 
Bliffel  in  his  eagerness  failed  to  detect  this.  The  reporter 
whipped  out  a  note-book  and  found  a  pencil  behind  his  ear. 

"Called  on  the  lady?  And  when  was  that,  if  I  may  in 
quire,  Mr.  Chippendale?" 

Mr.  Chippendale  rose  in  high  dudgeon.  He  had  been 
goaded  to  the  point  where  his  patience  was  exhausted. 
"This  interview  must  cease,"  he  said,  with  stately  decision. 

Mr.  Bliffel,  pencil  in  hand,  stared. 

"What's  up?" 

"You  must  go,  sir." 

"Turn  me  out?  Just  as  we  were  getting  on  so  finely? 
Just  as  we  had  reached  the  nub  of  the  interview?"  A 
wounded  spirit  who  can  bear  ?  Mr.  Bliffel  was  visibly  hurt. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  547 

Mr.  Chippendale  waited,  trusting  that  he  would  depart 
of  his  own  accord  and  not  oblige  him  to  press  the  bell  and 
summon  Miles. 

"What  have  I  done  to  offend  you?"  the  reporte 

quired. 

"To  begin  with,  you  forced  your  way  into  my  1 
unbidden.     That  is  an  effrontery  in  itself  according 
civilized  usages." 

"  Democratic  usage  sanctions  it.    A  sensible  man  s  h 
can't  be  his  castle  where  the  newspapers  are  concerned. 
The  people  demand  the  news." 

"I  waive  that  complaint.  I  am  ready  also  to  assume 
that  democratic  usage  sanctions  the  printing  and  dissem 
ination  of  the  scandalous  material  contained  in  that  news 
paper.  It  appears  to  be  so.  Otherwise,  why  do  such 
newspapers  exist  ?  But  that's  not  the  point." 

"The  Mercury  is  only  stating  the  truth,"  retorted  Mr. 
Bliffel  doggedly.  "Wait  and  see  how  the  yellow  journals 
treat  you  before  you  get  your  back  up." 

Mr.  Chippendale  paused  again.    The  sequence  of  his 
thoughts   had  been   interrupted.     "The  bare   facts   are 
mainly  correct.     The  grossly  sensational  and  offensive 
method  in  which  they  are  presented,  with  rude  cuts,  anc 
insulting,  maudlin  conclusions  emanating  from  the   brain 
of  him  who  wrote  it,  constitutes  a  libel.     But  I  repeat- 
that's  not  the  point.    I  put  up  with  all  this.    I  listened  to 
you  and  asked  you  to  sit  down.    It's  democratic  usage,  I 
dare  say,  to  offer  a  reporter  a  cigar  or  a  glass  of  wine;  but 
I'm  not  progressive  enough  for  that."     Mr.  Chippendale 
when  roused  could  be  vicious.     He  enjoyed  the  satiric 
thrust.    It  was  a  breach  of  hospitality;  but  such  a  chance 
to  speak  his  complete  mind  would  never  be  afforded  him 
again.    "But  when,  having  wormed  your  way  to  an  inter- 


548  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

view,"  he  continued,  "you  take  it  on  yourself  to  indulgt 
in  foul  insinuations  regarding  the  legality  of  my  brother's 
marriage  and  the  paternity  of  his  infant  child,  my  forebear- 
ance  ends.  I — 

"The  public  wants  to  know  how  the  family  feels  about 
the  matter — what  stand  it's  going  to  take,"  broke  in  the 
amazed  reporter.  "That's  all." 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  sir."  But  the  protest  served 
slightly  to  deflect  the  current  of  Mr.  Chippendale's  tirade. 
"The  family?  Why  should  the  family  be  dragged  into 
it?" 

"The  report  is  in  circulation  that  the  heirs  intend  to 
fight,  as  I  told  you  in  the  first  place,  but  you  wouldn't 
listen.  I  came  here  to-night  to  find  out  whether  it  was  true 
or  not,  and  I  was  just  jotting  down  from  your  own  lips  that 
everything  was  harmonious  and  that  there  wouldn't  be  a 
row,  when  lo!  behold,  you  invite  me  to  get  out.  I'm  not 
looking  for  cigars  or  bottles  of  wine,  but  it's  fair  to  expect 
common-sense." 

Mr.  Bliffel  thrust  his  note-book  in  his  pocket,  rammed 
his  pencil  behind  his  ear  and  buttoned  his  coat. 

"It  all  comes  to  the  same  thing."  Mr.  Chippendale, 
who  prided  himself  on  being  an  eminently  just  man,  felt 
a  trifle  confused.  But  he  had  no  intention  of  letting  the 
opportunity  slip.  "There's  something  you  don't  grasp — 
and  I'd  like  to  point  it  out  to  you.  It  seems  to  you  incred 
ible  that  a  family  shouldn't  choose  to  drag  its  skirts  in  the 
gutter  for  the  sake  of  dollars  and  cents;  that  it  should  hold 
its  head  too  high  to  demean  itself  by  washing  its  dirty 
linen  in  public,  though  ten  millions  were  at  stake  instead  of 
two,  and  no  matter  how  convincing  the  proofs.  It's  an  in 
sult  to  ask  such  a  family  whether  it  is  ready  to  foul  its  own 
nest  by  scrabbling  for  an  inheritance.  Do  I  make  this 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  549 

clear  at  last,  sir?"  Mr.  Chippendale's  lip  trembled  from 
the  sincerity  of  his  emotion. 

Mr.  Bliffel  listened  attentive  but  unmoved,  with  a  slight 
sneer  which  his  drooping  mustache  did  not  entirely  con 
ceal.  Pricking  up  his  affronted  ears  at  the  close  he  re 
marked  : 

"Then  there's  something  behind  the  scenes,  after  all?" 

Mr.  Chippendale  gazed  at  him  a  moment,  comprehend 
ing  slowly;  then  the  enormity  of  the  statement  overcame 
him. 

"Only  an  impertinent  rascal,  sir,  would  make  such  an 
inquiry  after  my  direct  assurance  to  the  contrary." 

"  Go  it,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bliffel.  "  Don't  mind  me."  He 
was  pleased  at  keeping  his  own  temper  so  admirably. 
"I  should  judge  from  the  general  flavor  of  your  remarks 
that  you  are  not  much  in  sympathy  with  democratic  insti 
tutions.  You'd  better  go  live  in  England,  if  you're  not 
satisfied." 

"My  patriotism  is  not  at  issue.  I  was  sufficiently  proud 
of  my  country  to  risk  my  life  for  her  at  your  age." 

Mr.  Chippendale,  who  took  but  a  mild  interest  in  the 
war  with  Spain,  intended  nothing  sinister  by  this  speech, 
but  the  reporter  chose  to  regard  it  as  a  reflection  on  himself. 

"I'm  hoping  for  orders  to  go  to  the  front  any  day,"  he 
answered,  and  then  he  lost  what  advantage  he  possessed 
by  indulging  in  the  hackneyed  utterance,  "Folks  in  your 
position  don't  seem  to  take  into  account  that  reporting  is 
a  business  like  any  other  business,  and  that  a  reporter  has 
to  live.  He's  a  human  being  and  liable  to  have  a  wife  and 
children  same  as  you  are.  We  don't  relish  all  our  jobs;  but 
if  we  were  to  handle  them  the  way  you  kid-gloved  gentry 
would  have  us,  we'd  be  bounced  before  the  first  pay  day." 

The  pathos  of  this  appealed  to  Bliffel  as  unanswerable. 


550  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"Very  possibly,"  said  Mr.  Chippendale  dryly.  He  was 
not  moved,  for  his  mind  was  still  occupied  with  the  taunt 
that  he  had  better  Jive  in  England.  He  believed  himself 
to  be  second  to  no  citizen  on  the  score  of  true  patriotism; 
and  as  a  part  of  that  patriotism  he  reserved  to  himself  the 
right  to  cavil  at  the  shortcomings  of  his  countrymen  when 
they  merited  reproof.  His  ire  was  still  rampant  and 
he  had  only  partially  spoken  his  mind.  The  moment 
seemed  ripe  for  this  young  man  to  hear  before  he  de 
parted  home  truths  which  no  one  else  would  be  apt  to 
tell  him. 

"You  spoke  of  sympathy  with  democratic  institutions. 
No  one  believes  in  public  spirit  more  firmly  than  I  do.  I 
— the  Chippendales  for  several  generations — have  ever  been 
proud  to  foster  and — er — make  sacrifices  in  behalf  of  the 
best  institutions  of  our  native  city  and  country.  It  is  be 
cause  I  love  them  that  I  deplore  the  visible  loosening  of 
our  moral  ties,  the  degeneracy  of  our  modern  manners. 
We  are  fast  ceasing  to  have  either  convictions  or  culture. 
You  ask  me  why  ?  Because  our  standards  are  being  swept 
away  one  after  another  by  an  insidious  undertow  of  flabby, 
easy-going  optimism  which  would  substitute  mere  oppor 
tunism  for  stable  principle  and  haphazard  social  ease  for 
reverence  and  high  breeding.  The  newspaper?  The 
modern  newspaper  is  but  a  symbol.  In  the  seventy  years 
during  which  I  have  lived  in  Boston  it  has  been  trans 
formed  from  a  respectable  medium  of  the  political  and 
commercial  news  into  a  daily  eyesore.  Yes,  sir,  an  eye 
sore,"  Mr.  Chippendale  paused  to  press  home  the  heart 
felt  indictment.  Then  to  point  his  moral  more  completely 
he  added:  "And  I  pride  myself — I  have  always  prided 
myself  on  being  a  progressive  man.  No  one  has  greater 
sympathy  with  genuine  progress  than  I.  The  Chippen- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  551 

dales" — he  stopped  short — "I  see,  sir,  you  are  amused  at 
the  idea." 

Bliffel  had  been  listening  to  the  harangue  with  emotions 
akin  to  those  of  one  caught  in  a  pelting  shower  without  an 
umbrella.  Instead  of  turning  up  his  collar  he  folded  his 
arms  and  let  it  come  down,  waiting  for  an  opening.  After 
all,  he  reflected,  there  was  something  picturesque  about 
the  ancient  aristocrat,  venomous  as  he  showed  himself. 
There  might  be  also  a  shade  of  truth  in  the  charges,  ante 
diluvian  as  they  sounded.  The  world  certainly  was  be 
coming  pretty  easy-going;  though  doubtless  this  was  in 
order  that  it  might  run  faster  and  more  smoothly.  But  the 
reference  to  progress  was  too  much  for  his  risibilities. 

"To  my  benighted  intelligence,"  he  said  in  response  to 
Mr.  Chippendale's  challenge,  "it  would  seem  about  as 
rational  to  call  the  inmates  of  McLean  Asylum  yonder "- 
and  he  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  to  indicate  the 
far  distance  across  Charles  River— "progressive."     As  a 
journalist  and  a  loyal  citizen  of  Boston  he  could  not,  how 
ever  diverting  the  old  gentleman's  eloquence,  suffer  such 
wholesale  calumny  to  pass  without  a  fitting  rebuke. 

Mr.  Chippendale  flushed  at  the  affront,  then  frowned. 
It  was  a  matter  of  pride  that  none  of  his  family  had  ever 
been  an  inmate  of  this  institution.  But  it  had  been  one  of 
the  secret  dreads  of  his  life  that  he  might  some  day  be  put 
there.  Was  not  insanity  said  to  be  on  the  increase,  without 
distinction  of  person?  The  impertinent  intimation  that 
here  was  where  he  belonged  put  him  on  his  dignity  and 
reminded  him  that  he  had  parleyed  with  this  intruder  long 
•enough.  He  had  freed  his  own  mind  and  taught  him  his 
lesson,  and  it  was  time  for  the  interview  to  close.  He 
walked  to  the  fireplace  and  pressed  the  button  of  the 
electric  bell. 


552  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"It  wasn't  necessary  to  ring.  I  know  my  way  out," 
exclaimed  the  reporter,  prompt  to  recognize  the  hint. 
Then  disappointed  doubtless  that  his  previous  insinuation 
had  not  elicited  a  more  striking  display  of  wrath  and  de 
sirous  to  have  the  last  word,  he  added:  "Progressive?  If 
the  fitting  phrase  were  left  to  me,  I'd  say  a  mossback." 

Mr.  Chippendale  stared  haughtily.  "I  am  not  familiar 
with  the  expression,"  he  said.  Straightening  his  spare 
figure  to  its  full  height  he  pointed  toward  the  door,  which 
the  next  moment  was  opened  from  the  outside,  to  admit 
not  the  man-servant,  but  his  son  Chauncey,  who  entering 
briskly,  exclaimed:  "I  just  looked  in,  father,  to  tell  you—" 
Perceiving  the  reporter  he  halted.  "Why,  it's  Mr.  Bliffel. 
Then,  of  course,  you've  seen  this  already,"  he  added,  hold 
ing  out  to  his  father  the  newspaper  which  he  had  brought 
"The  fat's  all  in  the  fire." 

Mr.  Chippendale  nodded.  "I've  seen  it  and  have  just 
declined  to  be  interviewed  by  this — er — reporter." 

Chauncey  had  no  need  of  his  father's  doughty  words  in 
order  to  grasp  the  situation.  "Mr.  Bliffel  and  I  are  old 
acquaintances.  He  lets  me  in  for  an  interview  every  now 
and  then,  and  I'm  bound  to  admit  that  he  generally  uses 
me  pretty  well."  He  wheeled  upon  the  reporter  with  a 
propitiatory  smile. 

"And  you'll  give  me  credit,  I  believe,  for  getting  out 
when  I'm  invited  to?"  answered  Bliffel,  grinning  signifi 
cantly. 

"My  father  isn't  accustomed  to  reporters.  You  should 
have  come  to  see  me.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  Sit  down, 
Mr.  Bliffel.  Miles,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  butler  who 
stood  waiting  in  response  to  the  bell  which  Mr.  Chippen 
dale  had  rung,  "bring  Mr.  Bliffel  a  cigar."  Thus  by  a 
happy  display  of  genial  tact  Chauncey  soothed  the  feelings 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  553 

of  the  visitor  and  at  the  same  time  put  him  slightly  on  the 
defensive. 

"I  was  down  this  way,  and  I  thought  a  few  words  from 
the  older  generation— 

"You  can't  blame  a  man  of  my  father's  years  for  object 
ing  to  notoriety.  This  article" — Chauncey  held  up  the 
obnoxious  newspaper — "is  necessarily  distasteful  to  all  of 
us." 

"I  didn't  write  it." 

"And  the  Mercury  had  to  print  it.  It's  business.  I 
understand  that.  But  you  couldn't  expect  a  member  of 
the  family  who  didn't  know  you  to  receive  you  with  open 
arms.  How  did  the  Mercury  get  wind  of  this?" 

"I'm  not  at  liberty  to  disclose,"  said  Mr.  Bliffel  puffing 
at  the  cigar  provided  him  by  Miles.  "  Mr.  Harrison  Chip 
pendale  has  already  stated  that  you  do  not  dispute  the 
facts." 

" How  could  we?  My  uncle  did  marry  his  stenographer 
and  has  left  a  child  born  yesterday.  Consequently  his 
previous  will  is  of  no  effect." 

Chauncey  spoke  with  business-like  suavity.  He,  too, 
had  lighted  a  cigar.  Every  one  was  seated  and  Mr.  Bliffel 
had  reproduced  his  note-book.  Mr.  Chippendale  listening 
in  his  easy-chair,  with  the  tips  of  his  ringers  touching  one 
another,  felt  a  little  crestfallen.  Possibly  he  had  been 
somewhat  peppery.  The  ways  of  the  younger  generation 
were  invariably  past  understanding;  but  this  object-lesson 
was  interesting.  Save  for  the  cigar,  Chauncey  had  not 
placed  him  in  a  false  position;  on  the  contrary,  had 'vir 
tually  defended  him.  Yet  he  seemed  to  be  getting  on  with 
the  fellow — to  understand  how  to  handle  him.  Appar 
ently,  though,  a  private  citizen's  house  had  ceased  to  be 
his  castle  where  the  newspaper  press  was  concerned.  To 


654  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

protect  one's  self  and  curry  favor  it  was  necessary  to  be 
obsequious  to  individuals  one  would  enjoy  throwing  into 
Charles  River.  Yet  his  son  was  one  of  the  leading  bankers 
of  Boston,  accustomed  to  consideration  and  to  impose  his 
will  on  others.  Thus  musing,  Mr.  Chippendale  heard 
Chauncey  continue: 

"The  local  color  is  lurid  and  the  pictures  superfluously 
grotesque  from  a  Back  Bay  standpoint;  but  we're  not  in 
a  position  to  deny  anything.  The  essential  statements  are 
correct.  What  we  wish  now  is  to  be  let  down  as  gently  as 
possible." 

Bliffel  nodded.  "It's  merely  the  attitude  of  the  family 
I'm  after,"  he  said  deprecatingly.  When  one  of  the  mag 
nates  of  State  Street  showed  himself  capable  of  recognizing 
that  a  reporter  was  also  a  man  and  a  brother,  he  was  glad 
to  be  accommodating.  "The  Mercury  would  like  to  know 
if  there  is  to  be  litigation.  Will  there  be  a  contest  regarding 
either  the  child  or  the  money?" 

"None  whatever.  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  replied  Chaun 
cey  with  emphasis.  "There's  not  a  particle  of  discord  on 
either  side.  You  may  say,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  attitude 
of  the  family  toward  the  widow  and  her  son  is  absolutely 
cordial,  and  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  litigation.  Get 
that  straight,  Mr.  Bliffel." 

The  reporter  scribbled  away  with  manifest  satisfaction. 
What  a  contrast,  he  reflected,  to  the  crusty  progenitor  in 
the  arm-chair,  whom  it  was  a  pleasure  to  have  witness  the 
method  in  which  two  modern  men  of  affairs  conducted 
business.  Pencil  in  air,  he  looked  up  to  add  with  a  shade 
of  exultation,  "And  Mr.  Harrison  Chippendale  has  called 
upon  the  widow  to  acknowledge  her  as  his  brother's  wife." 

"My  father  told  you  that,  did  he?  I  don't  see  but  you 
pumped  him,  after  all." 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  555 

Bliffel  grinned.  "It  was  like  extracting  teeth,  though," 
he  answered  by  way  of  a  parting  shot  at  Mr.  Chippendale. 
He  closed  his  note-book  and  rose,  for  his  stay  had  been 
far  longer  than  he  intended.  But  he  had  got  what  he  came 
for.  "I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  sir/'  he  said  with  a  bow 
at  Chauncey. 

Mr.  Chippendale,  convinced  that  reverence  had  van 
ished  from  the  world,  gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair  and 
quivered  in  silence.  But  Chauncey,  stepping  forward, 
said,  in  his  most  engaging  confidential  manner,  though  not 
without  dignity:  "Now  I  rely  on  you,  Bliffel,  to  treat  us 
decently,  and  tone  down  everything  as  much  as  possible. 
You  must  appreciate  that  to  a  family  like  ours  this  notoriety 
is  horribly  distasteful.  It  galls  my  father— it  galls  me. 
We're  up  against  it;  but  you  can  help  us,  though.  We 
don't  want  any  more  publicity  than  is  absolutely  necessary 
and  we  don't  want  to  be  misrepresented.  And  fix  the 
other  newspapers,  like  a  good  fellow,  so  that  they  won't 
indulge  in  offensive  personalities  or  sensational  flights  of 
the  imagination." 

"You  may  rely  on  me,  sir,  I'll  make  it  a  personal  mat 
ter.  I'll  see  that  no  mistake  is  made  as  to  how  the  family 
stands  on  the  main  question,  and  I'll  ask  the  editor  to  blue 
pencil  anything  you  wouldn't  like." 

Mr.  Chippendale,  who  had  risen  as  an  habitual  act  of 
courtesy  to  speed  his  sparting  guest,  gathered  that  the  latter 
was  decidedly  flattered  by  his  son's  condescension.  It 
appeared  to  be  necessary,  however,  for  Chauncey  to  escort 
him  to  the  library  door  and,  having  shaken  hands  with 
him,  to  volunteer— did  his  own  ears  hear  correctly  ? — satis 
faction  that  he  had  called.  Nevertheless,  the  moment  Mr. 
Bliffel  had  left  the  room  Mr.  Chippendale  beheld  his  son 
drop  on  the  sofa  with  a  sigh  and,  supporting  his  cheeks  on 


556  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

his  hands,  stare  moodily  at  the  fireplace  until  they  heard 
the  door  slam,  when  he  indulged  in  this  soliloquy : 

"  What  else  can  one  do  with  a  beggar  like  that  but  treat 
him  civilly?  He's  bound  to  print  something;  that's  what 
he's  paid  for.  If  one  is  peevish,  he  slangs  you  and  nothing 
is  gained.  But  it's  rather  trying  to  have  to  play  the  sun 
shiny  host  to  a  fellow  whom  you  are  itching  to  throw  out 
of  the  window." 

This  pseudo-justification  resembled  so  closely  an  apology 
that  Mr.  Chippendale  was  encouraged  to  remark:  "He 
waylaid  me  at  the  foot  of  the  front  door  steps  or  he  would 
never  have  got  in.  I  mistook  him  for  a  needy  tramp." 

Chauncey  sighed  again.  "Bliffel  is  better  than  most  of 
them.  He's  a  white  man  according  to  his  lights.  If  you 
refuse  to  talk,  he's  liable  at  a  pinch  to  invent  an  interview; 
but  if  you  treat  him  civilly  and  he  gives  you  his  word  not 
to  roast  you,  I've  never  known  him  to  break  it.  So  it  pays 
not  to  be  ugly  to  him." 

Having  uttered  these  words  of  opportunist  wisdom, 
Chauncey  happened  to  notice  the  copy  of  the  Mercury 
which  had  slipped  to  the  floor  beside  his  father's  chair. 
Stooping,  he  was  in  the  act  of  consigning  this  to  the  flames 
of  the  wood  fire  when  Mr.  Chippendale  exclaimed  just  in 
time  to  stay  his  hand,  "What  are  you  doing,  Chauncey?" 

"  I  was  going  to  destroy  this  filthy  lucubration.  I  didn't 
suppose  you  would  care  to  have  it  about." 

"You  had  better  save  it  for  the  moment.  Your  mother 
might  like  to  see  it,"  faltered  the  old  gentleman. 

Chauncey  laughed.  "All  right,"  he  said,  and  nodding 
in  the  direction  of  the  library  table  on  which  he  had  laid  his 
own  copy,  added:  "I'm  taking  mine  home  to  Beatrice  for 
the  same  reason."  He  spread  out  the  newspaper  in  his 
hands  and  scrutinized  the  contents  for  a  moment  ruefully. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  557 

"It's  about  the  limit  of  indecent  journalism,"  he  remarked. 
."But  one  bright  spot,  father,  is  they  didn't  print  your 
picture." 

"No,  they  spared  me  that  indignity."  Then  after  a  mo 
ment  he  asked:  "What  is  a — er — mossback,  Chauncey?" 

"  A  mossback  ?  "  Chauncey  chuckled  respectfully.  "  It's 
vernacular,  I  believe,  for  any  one  on  whom  the  moss  of 
ages  is  supposed  to  have  accumulated.  A  person,"  he 
continued,  observing  that  his  father  still  looked  puzzled, 
"who  has  lived  a  long  time  and  cherishes  fixed  opinions. 
Why  do  you  ask?  Did  Bliffel  call  you  one?" 

"Yes.    Only  a  moment  before  you  came  in." 

"  The  impudent  villain.  I  wish  I'd  overheard  him.  It's 
invidious,  however,  not  strictly  opprobrious." 

"I  see.  Behind  the  times.  An  old  fogy.  A  back  num 
ber,  I  think  you  would  call  it,"  Mr.  Chippendale  added 
complacently  by  way  of  showing  that  his  phraseology  was 
not  altogether  archaic.  "Well,  I  suppose  I  am— at  my 
age.  I'm  glad  to  be  if  the  contrary  means  refusing  to  stand 
up  for  one's  principles,"  he  remarked  stoutly. 

"You're  all  right,  father.  I  wish  there  were  more  men 
nowadays  like  you.  We're  all  so  infernally  afraid  of  giving 
offence."  Chauncey  sat  down  on  the  sofa  again  and  re 
lapsed  into  his  former  attitude  of  staring  moodily  at  the 
fire.  It  was  obvious  from  his  expression  that  he  was  out 
of  sorts.  "It's  been  a  gruesome  day  down-town,"  he  re 
sumed.  "The  bottom  has  been  dropping  out  of  every 
thing  I  own.  Electric  Coke  has  been  the  weakest  thing 
on  the  list.  It  fell  twenty  points  on  top  of  twenty  yesterday; 
nearly  two  hundred  off  from  its  highest  of  three  months 
ago.  It's  cheap — dirt  cheap,  if  I  had  only  had  the  spare 
cash.  If  only  I  were  flush,  I'd  make  the  people  who  are 
marking  it  down  very  tired.  But  this  surprise  party  of 


558  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

tingle  Baxter's  has  tied  me  up  tighter  than  a  drum." 
These  remarks  in  the  nature  of  a  soliloquy  would  explain 
the  absence  of  his  customary  flow  of  spirits  and  also  give 
an  inkling  to  his  father  that  his  affairs  were  not  so  rosy  as 
they  appeared. 

Mr.  Chippendale  showed  himself  becomingly  sympa 
thetic.  "One  of  the  most  unfortunate  features  of  the 
whole  episode  has  been  your  legitimate  disappointment." 

"I  suppose  on  general  principles  it's  a  good  rule  not  to 
invest  a  legacy  until  it's  in  the  box." 

Mr.  Chippendale  did  not  gainsay  this  conservative 
proposition.  After  musing  a  moment  Chauncey  continued : 
"I  wonder  if  it  could  have  been  Blaisdell  who  gave  away 
Uncle  Baxter's  marriage  to  the  Mercury.'" 

"  After  dining  at  my  house,  I  can  scarcely  believe  it." 

"He's  at  the  bottom  of  most  things  nowadays,"  re 
sponded  Chauncey  gloomily.  "Though  when  one  tries  to 
prove  it,  it's  next  to  impossible  to  put  one's  finger  on  him." 

Miles  appeared  at  this  moment  with  a  note  on  a  silver 
salver  which  he  presented  to  his  master,  saying  that  the 
messenger  was  from  Miss  Chippendale's. 

Opening  the  missive  Mr.  Chippendale  read  and  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  alarm.  "It's  from  the  nurse.  Mary 
Higgins"  (naming  the  old  house-keeper)  "asked  her  to 
write.  Georgiana  is  much  worse.  The  doctor  fears  it 
may  be  apoplexy."  Mr.  Chippendale  sat  like  one  stunned. 
"And  when  I  left  your  aunt  not  more  than  an  hour  ago, 
We  thought  her  decidedly  better." 

It  was  one  of  Chauncey 's  regrets  for  the  rest  of  his  days 
that,  in  spite  of  this  distressing  news,  the  thought  stole  un 
bidden  into  his  mind  that  the  requisite  money  might  be 
forthcoming  in  the  nick  of  time.  Thus  do  the  necessities 
of  those  who  stand  at  bay  in  the  world  struggle  for  great 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  559 

possessions,  obtrude  their  sordid  claims  at  the  most  sol 
emn  moments  of  life.  Simultaneously  he  heard  his  father 
exclaim  piteously  with  trembling  lip  which  he  sought  to 
keep  firm,  "  Chauncey,  my  boy,  it  looks  as  if  the  elder  gen 
eration  were  breaking  up." 

Falling  on  his  knees  in  an  access  of  filial  tenderness, 
Chauncey  put  his  arm  around  Mr.  Chippendale's  shoulder. 
Though  he  was  in  the  strength  of  his  manhood,  his  warm 
heart  responded  to  the  poignancy  of  the  cry — the  cry  of 
age  deploring  that  the  silver  cord  must  soon  be  broken. 
"My  dear  old  father,"  he  said,  "I'm  terribly  sorry  for 
you." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Miss  GEORGIANA  CHIPPENDALE  died  that  night.  She 
never  regained  consciousness  and  passed  away  in  the 
small  hours.  The  sight  of  crape  on  the  shining  metal  bell- 
handle  of  the  old-fashioned  white  door  caused  grief  to 
many  hearts.  She  had  been  eminently  a  public-spirited 
woman — this  was  what  every  one  said  of  her — of  a  kind 
peculiar  in  a  sense  to  Boston.  One  whose  concern  in  recti 
fying  wrongs  and  promoting  every  sort  of  human  progress 
was  so  intense  that  her  sympathies  were  easily  aroused. 
She  gave  freely  both  of  her  time  and  her  money;  gave 
with  loyal  zeal  which  never  wavered,  but  burned  brightly 
until  superseded  by  a  fresh  enthusiasm.  Some  of  these 
enthusiasms  were  fads;  so  rapidly  did  they  succeed  one 
another,  they  needs  must  be  so.  But  as  the  Transcript 
(the  columns  of  which  she  perused  every  evening  of  her 
mature  life)  justly  stated  in  a  brief  editorial  on  the  day  of 
her  funeral,  she  had  by  virtue  of  her  high  aspirations. 


560  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

receptibility  to  new  ideas  and  tireless  energy  made  herself 
a  moral  force  in  Boston  which  would  be  widely  missed. 

Her  many  annual  benefactions  embraced  numerous 
minor  as  well  as  major  charities.  Who  exactly  would  take 
her  place?  Give,  that  is,  with  so  liberal  and  unexacting 
a  hand?  Once  a  subscriber,  Miss  Chippendale  always 
remained  one.  In  the  face  of  her  life  devoted  so  largely  to 
the  public  welfare,  her  peculiarities  and  eccentricities 
dwindled  into  insignificance  from  the  obituary  standpoint. 
But  after  she  was  laid  to  rest,  there  was  general  curiosity 
as  to  what  she  had  done  with  her  money.  It  was  surmised 
that  she  was  very  wealthy,  though  few  were  privy  to  her 
talent  for  speculation.  Just  as  Boston  was  in  the  throes  of 
surprise  and  interrogation  over  Baxter's  secret  marriage 
and  the  disinheritance  of  his  nephews  and  nieces,  every 
one  paused  to  wonder  as  to  the  terms  of  Miss  Georgiana's 
will  and  how  much  she  had  left.  Were  the  family  her  prin 
cipal  beneficiaries,  or  had  she  made  her  nephews  and 
nieces  modest  bequests  and  enriched  her  favorite  chari 
ties? 

A  new  sensation  was  in  store  for  the  community.  The 
instrument,  executed  about  a  year  before  her  death,  dis 
closed  a  vigorous  purpose.  To  all  her  incorporated  hob 
bies  the  testatrix  bequeathed  sums  within  a  range  from 
five  hundred  to  ten  thousand  dollars.  The  annual  income 
from  five  thousand  was  appropriated  for  the  housing  of  the 
squirrels  and  the  protection  of  the  birds  on  the  Common. 
Her  coachman  and  maids  were  given  pensions  and  a  few 
aged  contemporaries  suitable  pecuniary  remembrances. 
Her  personal  effects  were  apportioned  with  careful  detail. 
For  example,  to  her  niece  and  namesake  was  bequeathed 
her  jewelry,  all  of  which  proved  to  be  old-fashioned;  to 
her  friend  and  former  companion,  Priscilla  Avery,  was  left 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  561 

the  gilt  clock  and  two  bronze  figures  which  had  graced 
immemorially  the  mantel-piece  in  the  drawing-room.  To 
her  seven  nephews  and  nieces  living  at  her  death  the  sum 
of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  apiece  was  given,  but  in 
trust  without  power  of  anticipation  and  free  from  the  control 
of  any  wife  or  husband.  All  the  rest  and  residue  of  her 
property — and  here  was  the  feature  which  made  Boston 
marvel  and  set  tongues  wagging — was  devised  to  her  dear 
nephew,  Henry  Chippendale  Sumner — but  on  one  condi 
tion,  that  he  change  his  surname  to  Chippendale.  Other 
wise  the  residue  was  to  be  divided  equally  between  Harvard 
College,  the  Boston  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  and  the  Society 
for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals. 

Why  had  Miss  Chippendale  preferred  this  special 
nephew  and,  having  preferred  him,  inserted  this  remark 
able  proviso?  What  was  the  amount  of  the  residue  and 
would  the  chief  beneficiary  fulfil  the  condition  ?  Such  were 
the  questions  which  rose  at  once  to  many  lips.  Ready 
answers  were  forthcoming  for  all  but  one  of  them.  It  was 
a  peculiar  will;  but  Miss  Chippendale  was  a  peculiar 
woman;  a  woman  of  intense  likes  and  dislikes.  Her 
nephew  Henry  had  of  late  years  been  her  favorite.  She 
was  proud  of  his  stern,  uncompromising  morality  and 
public-spirited  proclivities,  qualities  which  she  associated 
with  the  Chippendales  and  which  he  alone  of  the  younger 
generation  appeared  to  her  to  possess.  He  was  a  Chippen 
dale  by  blood  and  poor  as  a  church  mouse.  She  would 
make  him  one  by  name  and  rich  as  well.  She  had  left  her 
other  nephews  and  nieces  competences — as  much  as  was 
good  for  them;  this  was  doubtless  the  way  she  justified 
herself.  She  was  of  the  kind  who,  when  strongly  pos 
sessed  by  an  idea,  are  able  to  arrive  at  justice  to  their 
own  satisfaction.  Henry  Sumner  would  be  true  to  the 


662  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ideals  for  which  the  Chippendale  family  had  invariably 
stood;  and  the  Chippendales  had  always  been  wealthy  to 
boot. 

Such  was  the  reasoning  of  Boston.  Mark,  too,  it  con 
tinued,  the  shrewd  way  by  which  the  testatrix  had  made  it 
impossible  for  Henry  generously  to  renounce  the  magnifi 
cent  gift,  and  by  so  doing,  divide  the  residue  share  and  share 
alike  with  his  sisters  and  cousins.  If  he  refused  to  change 
his  name,  the  fortune  would  all  go  to  noble  benevolent 
uses  outside  the  family.  To  put  them  all  on  the  same  foot 
ing  was  manifestly  impossible.  A  less  scrupulous  person 
might  change  his  name  and,  having  secured  the  money, 
make  a  division;  but  it  could  be  taken  for  granted  that  a 
rigorous  soul  like  Henry  Sumner  would  feel  in  honor 
bound  not  to  whip  the  devil  round  the  stump.  As  for  the 
amount,  Miss  Chippendale's  lawyer,  who  drew  the  will 
and  was  familiar  with  her  affairs,  had  expressed  the  opinion 
that  the  residue  would  foot  up  certainly  half  a  million. 
Henry  was  quixotic  by  nature;  but  seeing  that  he  could  not 
benefit  his  kinsfolk  by  refusal,  what  else  was  there  to  do 
but  place  the  injustice,  if  any,  on  the  shoulders  of  his  aunt 
where  it  belonged  and  submit  to  her  strange  caprice.  She 
evidently  cherished  a  deep  sentiment  for  the  name;  so 
much  so,  as  some  one  declared,  that  she  had  clung  to  it 
herself  so  long  as  she  could  and  then  claimed  the  right  to 
select  a  worthy  successor.  In  short,  she  had  made  him  her 
son  by  adoption  to  the  tune  of  five  hundred  thousand 
dollars. 

At  the  close  of  the  reading  of  the  document  in  Miss 
Georgiana's  drawing-room  by  Mr.  Saunders,  the  lawyer, 
one  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  The  purport  was  so 
astounding  that  Harrison  Chippendale,  in  common  with 
Mrs.  Sumner  and  all  the  other  feminine  members  of  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  563 

family,  were  unable  to  take  it  in.  Mr.  Chippendale  broke 
the  awkward  silence  to  request  that  the  residuary  clauses  be 
read  a  second  time.  The  only  ones  who  really  compre 
hended  were  Henry  and  Chauncey;  but  the  former  was 
struck  dumb  by  bewilderment,  the  latter  by  unpleasant 
realization  that  fate  had  dealt  him  another  blow  between 
the  eyes.  All  he  would  receive  was  a  paltry  hundred 
thousand;  and  what  was  this  out  of  what  he  guessed  to  be 
at  least  two  millions  ?  There  was  a  ripple  of  astonishment. 
Again  it  was  Mr.  Chippendale  who  spoke. 

"Your  aunt  appears  to  have  left  you  the  lion's  share, 
Henry,  my  boy." 

"It's  simply  amazing;  the  greatest  possible  surprise  to 
me,  Harrison.  I  hadn't  the  remotest  conception  that  Geor- 
giana  was  contemplating  anything  of  the  sort,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Sumner  in  a  flutter  of  solicitude. 

"She  has  always  approved  of  Henry,"  declared  her 
brother  unflinchingly  in  an  effort  to  elucidate  the  conduct 
of  the  deceased. 

"But  of  course  I  couldn't  accept  it."  The  words  were 
Henry's.  All  eyes  had  been  covertly  resting  on  him,  and 
every  ear  had  been  waiting  to  hear  what  he  would  say. 
Though  he  had  kept  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  battling  with 
himself,  the  speech  was  unhesitatingly  explicit. 

"Of  course  not,"  echoed  his  mother  with  an  exalted 
sigh  of  relief.  "You  might  be  sure  that  Henry  would  feel 
that  he  must  be  generous;  that  he  could  not  afford  to  better 
himself  at  the  expense  of  his  sisters  and  cousins." 

"But  as  I  understand  the  will,  generosity  wouldn't  do 
the  rest  of  us  the  least  good,"  interposed  Chauncey.  "If 
Henry  refuses  the  money,  it  goes  to  Harvard  College,  the 
Art  Museum  and  the  Animals." 

"That's  it,"  explained  Mr.  Saunders  laconically.    "As 


564  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

I  figure  the  estate,  the  residue  will  probably  slightly  exceed 
six  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

"  A  lot  of  money.  Bless  me,  I  had  no  idea  that  Georgiana 
had  been  able  to — er — accumulate  so  much,"  Mr.  Chippen 
dale  could  not  refrain  from  remarking. 

Chauncey's  clear-headed  criticism  had  put  a  damper  on 
the  equitable  solution  hinted  at. 

"The  matter  isn't  so  simple  as  I  thought,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Sumner. 

"Of  course  the  money  must  not  go  out  of  the  family, 
whatever  happens.  Since  it  was  Georgiana's  wish  that 
Henry  should  inherit  the  lion's  share,  I  don't  see  but  he 
must  keep  it,"  said  Harrison. 

"But  you  don't  seem  to  understand.  I  can't  accept 
because  of  the  condition.  I  would  not  be  willing  to  change 
my  name,"  said  Henry  with  unequivocal  clearness.  "It 
was  my  father's  name." 

There  was  another  pause  of  general  surprise. 

"Your  father's  name.  That's  a  different  question," 
observed  Mr.  Chippendale. 

Mrs.  Sumner  flushed  from  guilty  consciousness  of  a 
moral  lapse.  Why  had  not  this  occurred  to  her  as  one  of 
the  crucial  difficulties?  She  had  heard  the  proviso  dis 
tinctly  enough — change  his  surname;  but  somehow  the 
glamour  of  coming  into  all  this  money  had  obscured  every 
other  obstacle  save  the  necessity  of  treating  the  rest  of  the 
family  fairly.  A  Chippendale  herself  before  marriage, 
the  enormity  of  changing  to  one  in  name  had  not  dawned 
on  her  at  first;  but  she  now  perceived  with  agitation  the 
genuineness  of  the  problem  confronting  her  son  and  how 
great  was  her  own  responsibility.  For  the  sake  of  her  girls 
— for  the  sake  of  the  family  fortunes,  she  must  not  let  Henry 
be  led  away  by  a  too  fine-spun  sophistry — if  this  were  one; 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  565 

on  the  other  hand,  it  was  imperative  that  she  should  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  his  remaining  true  to  his  best  self  and 
to  Chippendale  and  Sumner  traditions.  Against  the  alter 
native  of  the  loss  of  a  great  sum  of  money  in  an  age  of  the 
world  when  money  was,  perhaps,  as  never  before,  service 
able  to  family  advancement,  stood  the  danger  of  disregard 
ing  that  spiritual  vision  which  was  the  most  precious  asset 
the  family  possessed. 

"I  had  not  considered  that  phase  of  the  matter,"  she 
said  earnestly,  approaching  Henry.  "  It  will  be  best,  dear, 
to  decide  on  nothing  hastily." 

"But,  mother,  I  could  never  look  my  father's  portrait  in 
the  face  again.  His  name  is  my  name.  How  could  I  give 
it  up?  No  amount  of  reflection  could  alter  my  opinion  as 

to  that." 

Eleanor  Sumner  quailed  before  his  relentless  certainty. 
"Very  possibly.  But  there  are  practical  considerations 
which  should  be  talked  over— weighed.  All  I  urge  is  that 
it  is  not  requisite  to  decide  to-day.  It  is  your  aunt's  ex 
pressed  wish,  and  it  is  not  as  if  you  were  not  already  half 
a  Chippendale." 

"But  my  name  is  Sumner.  I'm  surprised,  mother,  that 
you  should  countenance  the  idea  for  an  instant."  Henry 
spoke  proudly— a  little  theatrically,  as  if  proclaiming  that 
the  unexpected  opposition  had  constituted  him  the  sole 
protector  of  his  father's  lineage. 

"  Doubtless  you  are  right."  She  despised  herself  for  in 
sisting.  But  part  of  Henry's  obstinacy  had  been  inherited 
from  her.  "I  am  not  sure  this  is  not  a  case  where,  if  your 
father  were  alive,  he  would  feel  that  you  owed  it  to  your 
self—to  us  all  to  make  the  change." 

"  But  he  is  not  alive.    And  I  do  not  believe  he  would." 

Though  conscious  that  she  had  been  overruled,  Mrs. 


566  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

Sumner  thrilled  with  maternal  pride.  She  had  done  her 
duty;  pointed  out  and  smoothed  the  easier  path  so  that  he 
might  avail  himself  of  it  if  he  would.  He  had  chosen  in 
stead  that  of  filial  sentiment  and  loyal  family  honor.  What 
should  she  in  her  heart  but  exult?  He  had  simply  been 
true  to  the  fearless  vision  of  his  ancestors. 

But  Harrison  Chippendale  was  not  so  easily  convinced. 
"Your  sentiment  for  your  father's  name  is  highly  praise 
worthy.  But  is  not  what  you  propose  a  little  quixotic? 
You  have  a  leaning  that  way  at  times,  if  you  will  pardon 
my  saying  so,  Henry.  I  reverence  sentiment  deeply.  But 
is  the  course  you  have  in  mind  wholly  practical?  Take 
your  mother's  advice  and  think  it  over.  It  is  no  small  con 
sideration  that  over  half  a  million  dollars  of  Chippendale 
money  will,  if  you  persist,  pass  out  of  the  family." 

Henry  gazed  back  at  the  group  of  near  relatives,  his  sis 
ters,  aunt  and  cousins,  and  realized  that  this  plea  gauged 
more  or  less  accurately  the  family  opinion.  Obviously  they 
had  their  doubts.  His  sister,  Mrs.  Paton,  looked  troubled. 
Apparently  she  was  susceptible,  as  a  rising  professor's  wife, 
to  the  social  value  of  so  large  a  fortune.  Even  in  Lily's 
eyes  he  did  not  find  that  animating  gleam  which  would 
indicate  complete  approval.  Was  she  inviting  him  in  the 
name  of  Christian  Science  to  maintain  a  sweet  reason 
ableness  ?  All  this  he  discerned  in  a  flash,  and  then  sud 
denly  he  felt  the  pressure  of  his  mother's  hand  on  his  own 
in  sign  of  her  capitulation.  Not  for  an  instant  had  he  fal 
tered;  but  this  cleared  his  spirit's  horizon  of  its  only  worry. 

"Yes,  I  am  quixotic  at  times,  Uncle  Harrison.  Some 
people  will  think  me  so  in  this  case.  But  that  is  the  way 
I  am  constituted.  I  could  never  forgive  myself  for  doing 
otherwise.  As  for  the  money — you  must  lay  the  respon 
sibility  on  Aunt  Georgiana  if  it  passes  out  of  the  family." 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  567 

"Keep  your  father's  name  and  give  up  six  hundred 
thousand  dollars!  That's  living  up  to  one's  principles  with 
a  vengeance !  I  don't  claim  I'd  do  it — proud  as  I  am  of  the 
name  which  belongs  to  me;  but  I  take  my  hat  off  to  the 
man  who  is  capable  of  it.  I'll  say  this  for  you,  Henry, 
you're  a  thoroughbred  in  your  own  way." 

The  encomium  was  from  Chauncey.  He  had  been 
moved  to  speak  out  of  the  fulness  of  his  heart.  Depressed 
by  this  new  freak  of  destiny,  his  aunt's  favoritism,  he  had 
taken  no  part  in  the  conversation  since  the  moment  when 
he  had  pricked  the  bubble  of  premature  generosity.  As 
he  listened,  gloomy  dismay  had  given  place  to  incredulous 
astonishment  and  this  at  last  to  a  sudden  wave  of  enthusi 
asm  for  the  cousin  whom  he  had  long  secretly  despised.  It 
was  such  a  simple  matter  to  change  one's  name;  such  ex 
cellent  arguments  existed  for  doing  so;  yet  here  was  a  kins 
man  ready  to  turn  his  back  deliberately  on  more  than  half 
a  million  out  of  sheer  family  pride  and  devotion  to  his 
father's  memory.  "  Magnificent,  but  it  is  not  war,"  he  re 
flected,  enjoying  the  quotation.  But  his  lips  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  spontaneously  paid  a  fervid  tribute  of 
admiration  to  his  cousin's  sincerity.  Though  slightly  con 
descending  still,  the  words  were  clearly  an  admission  that 
he  had  never  done  his  qualities  justice  and  was  eager  to 
make  amends. 

As  such  they  were  gratefully  received  by  Henry.  Res 
olute  as  he  could  be  when  they  differed,  in  the  presence  of 
Chauncey  he  was  still  humble  at  heart  as  in  their  college 
days  and  was  painfully  conscious  of  his  own  deficiencies. 
His  cousin  was  such  an  aristocratic,  tactful  fellow,  with  such 
engaging  manners  and  such  a  happy  faculty  for  getting  on 
with  people.  Even  at  this  proud  moment  his  reply  proved 
half  apologetic: 


568  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

"I  can't  help  seeing  it  that  way,"  he  said  with  a  quizzical 
smile  which  lighted  up  his  lean  countenance.  "It's  the 
nature  of  the  beast,  I  suppose;  I'm  made  so.  Other  people 
might  see  no  wrong  in  it.  And  I'm  disappointed,  too, 
Chauncey,"  he  added,  "that  there  doesn't  appear  to  be 
any  method  by  which  you  and  the  others  could  have  the 
money  instead  of  me."  Then,  as  he  paused,  he  suddenly 
continued  like  one  making  a  confession,  "And  you  mustn't 
think  that  I  wouldn't  be  glad  to  have  it  myself.  I've  learned 
to  appreciate  the  value  of  a  lot  of  money  and  how  much 
more  a  man  may  accomplish  if  he  is  rich." 

This  counter  admission  prompted  Mrs.  Harrison  Chip 
pendale  to  remark:  "Don't  you  think  it  would  be  wise, 
Henry,  before  you  definitely  refuse,  to  consult  some  thor 
ough-going,  responsible  business  man  as  to  what  is  really 
right  under  all  the  circumstances?  You  see  how  your 
uncle  and  Chauncey  feel  on  the  subject;  they  admire  your 
filial  sentiment,  but  they  question  the  necessity.  Since,  as 
you  agree,  money  is  such  a  power,  will  you  put  it  beyond 
your  reach  and  the  reach  of  all  of  us  without  first  testing 
your  opinion  by  the  judgment  of  some  modern  men  of 
affairs?" 

Margaret  Chippendale  had  the  reputation  in  the  family 
of  being  sagacious  in  spite  of  her  social  narrowness.  It 
had  offended  her  that  Henry  should  be  preferred  to  her 
own  children,  and  she  would  have  welcomed  any  loophole 
by  which  the  disparity  between  them  might  be  counter 
acted.  But  all  the  business  instincts  of  the  Floyds  caused 
her  to  shudder  at  such  financial  suicide.  Hence  her  at 
tempt  to  provide  a  rational  antidote,  which  sounded  so 
plausible  that  it  inspired  her  youngest  daughter  to  supple 
ment  it  by  the  inquiry: 

"What  would  Mr.  Blaisdell  do  under  similar  circum- 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  569 

stances,  I  wonder.    Why  wouldn't  he  be  a  good  person  to 
consult?" 

There  was  no  malice  in  Georgiana's  speech.  It  never 
occurred  to  her  that  she  was  waving  a  red  rag  in  her  cous 
in's  face.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  entirely  sincere  in  her 
desire  to  know  what  view  such  a  leading  citizen  would  take 
of  the  matter.  Mr.  Saunders,  the  lawyer,  had  departed 
some  minutes  before,  leaving  the  family  to  its  own  devices. 
But  whatever  Henry's  emotions,  he  was  spared  the  necessity 
of  protest  by  Chauncey's  instantaneous  retort: 

"Blaisdell?  Can  any  one  doubt  what  Blaisdell  would 
say  or  do  ?  He  would  regard  any  man  who  let  six  hundred 
thousand  dollars  slip  through  his  fingers  rather  than  change 
his  name  as  fit  only  for  McLean  Asylum." 

"Chauncey — Chauncey,"  murmured  his  father,  shrink 
ing  at  the  final  allusion.  "It  isn't  necessary  to  be  so 
extravagant." 

But  Chauncey's  ears  were  closed.  His  sister's  words 
had  produced  a  peculiar  effect  on  him.  "And  the  very 
certainty  that  he  would  take  just  that  stand  and  stigmatize 
any  other  as  a  lack  of  common-sense,"  he  continued, 
speaking  with  obvious  feeling,  and  looking  around  the 
circle  as  if  to  emphasize  his  statement,  "is  a  strong  argu 
ment  with  me  for  sympathizing  with  Henry. 

"But  everybody  agrees  that  Mr.  Blaisdell  is  a  very  able 
man  and  that  his  opinion  carries  weight  in  the  commu 
nity,"  Georgiana  responded  dauntlessly.  Time  had  slightly 
amplified  this  young  lady's  figure,  but  without  impairing 
her  beauty  or  air  of  breeding.  The  grace  of  her  well-poised 
bird-like  head,  and  the  allurement  of  her  soft  eyes  still  dis 
tinguished  her  in  any  drawing-room,  though  maturity  had 
conventionalized  her  voice  and  manner  to  a  point  where 
the  desire  for  elegance  imposed  a  constant  check  on  spon- 


570  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

taneity.  But  she  relaxed  in  the  presence  of  her  family, 
who  also  recognized  that  beneath  her  social  reserve  she 
nursed  a  tendency  to  know  queer  people  and  advocate 
startling  doctrines.  Had  she  inherited  her  father's  pro- 
gressiveness  ?  Such  was  her  mother's  inner  plaint  when 
she  sought  to  fathom  why  the  only  beauty  of  her  three 
unmarried  daughters  still  hung  fire  matrimonially.  And 
voluntarily  so,  for  Georgiana  had  received  several  satis^ 
factory  offers.  A  brilliant  match  was  desirable  and  her 
due,  but  a  girl  might  shake  her  head  too  often  at  the  gift- 
horse  opportunity.  Meanwhile,  as  her  sagacious  mother 
reflected,  the  feminine  heart  grew  less  susceptible  to  illusion. 
Mrs.  Chippendale  felt  that  she  had  a  right  in  the  face  of 
these  conditions  to  harbor  despondency. 

"Able?  No  one  denies  his  ability.  Give  him  time  and 
he  can  prove  to  any  one  conclusively  that  black  is  white." 
So  answered  Chauncey,  and  then  added  this  unbrotherly 
taunt,  "We  all  know  how  thoroughly  he  has  hypnotized 
you,  Georgy." 

His  sister  coolly  showed  no  umbrage.  "I  like  him,  of 
course  I  like  him.  He  always  has  something  interesting 
to  say.  We  asked  him  to  dinner,  and  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  I 
was  tired  of  dining  with  just  the  same  people  all  the  year 
round.  The  real  reason  you  don't  fancy  him,  Chauncey,  is 
that  he's  so  clever  down-town.  You  wish  to  be  the  head  of 
everything — and  he  won't  let  you.  But  Boston  is  a  large 
city  now  and  there's  room  for  divided  authority  on  State 
Street." 

"No,  he  won't  let  me;  you're  right  there."  Chauncey 
indulged  in  a  wry  smile  at  this  bitter  truth  proceeding  from 
such  a  naive  authority.  He  was  highly  amused  both  by 
his  sister's  radical  outlook  and  by  her  perspicacity.  "It's 
partly  envy  on  my  side,  Georgy,  I  admit,"  he  continued 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  571 

mirthfully.     "But  it  isn't  all  envy.    Ask  Henry  what  he 
thinks  of  Blaisdell.     You  can't  accuse  him  of  being  en- 


"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  she  replied  instantly  with 
a  saucy  glance  at  her  cousin.  Georgiana  was  both  aware 
of  Henry's  antipathy  and  confident  that  she  knew  its 
cause. 

Chauncey  stared  a  moment.  "Oh,  I  forgot,"  he  said 
with  a  laugh.  "It  appears  then  that  neither  of  us  is  a  dis 
passionate  critic.  Which  only  proves  how  difficult  it  is  to 
corner  Blaisdell.  He  invariably  comes  up  smiling,  or 
proves  an  alibi." 

The  fervor  of  this  dialogue  frustrated  Mrs.  Harrison 
Chippendale's   attempt   at  mediation.     Though  nothing 
further  was  said  the  family  parted,  realizing  that  Henry's 
decision  was  unalterable.    He  himself— for  his  mother  and 
sisters  drove— walked  down  Beacon  Street  alone,  dwelling, 
not  on  his  refusal,  but  on  the  references  to  Blaisdell  which 
it  had  called  forth.    It  was  obvious  what  Chauncey  thought 
of  that  successful  individual.     By  separate  mental  processes 
Chauncey  had  arrived  at  the  same  unflattering  estimate  as 
his  own.     The  discovery  was  an  agreeable  surprise,  nor 
was  its  value  materially  lessened  by  Georgiana's  insinua 
tion  of  rivalry  down-town.     He  felt  himself  nearer  to 
Chauncey  than  ever  before  in  their  lives.     But  the  lat- 
ter's  final  statement  in  response  to  Georgiana's  champion 
ship  was  what  chiefly  possessed  him  as  he  walked  along— 
that  it  was  impossible  to  corner  Blaisdell.     Chauncey  had 
discovered  this,  too ;  or,  rather,  Chauncey's  discovery  invoked 
the  question  whether  he  himself  had  made  the  slightest  pro 
gress  in  fulfilling  his  own  pledge.    On  what  could  he  put  his 
finger  and  say,  "here  is  something  definite  of  which  I 
accuse  you."     Verily  his  cousin's  epigram  that  Blaisdell 


572  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

always  came  up  smiling  or  proved  an  alibi  seemed  mourn 
fully  true.  As  Georgiana  herself  declared,  Blaisdell  was 
rated  an  interesting  personage;  his  opinion  carried  weight 
in  the  community.  What  better  indication  of  this  than  his 
hypnotism  of  her,  by  virtue  of  which  he  had  won  the  social 
preferment  of  a  seat  at  the  fastidious  Harrison  Chippen 
dale's  dinner-table  ?  Straws  these,  but  straws  which  indi 
cated  how  the  wind  on  the  Back  Bay  was  blowing. 

It  was  a  perverse  thought  that  he  had  so  far  proved  noth 
ing;  Henry  was  conscious  of  this  as  he  pursued  his  way, 
but  his  mood  encouraged  it.  Georgiana's  hint  at  prejudice 
stuck  fast  in  his  memory,  too,  and  demanded  a  reckoning. 
Had  his  love  made  him  intolerant  and  lacking  in  justice? 
Often  enough  previously  he  had  asked  himself  the  same 
question  and  received  glowing  assurance  to  the  contrary. 
But  now  the  sudden  contact  of  Georgiana's  jibe  with 
Chauncey's  epigram  had  set  him  thinking.  He  had 
pledged  himself  to  produce  convincing  evidences  of  his 
rival's  lack  of  moral  fibre,  and  he  had  not  one  shred  of  defi 
nite  testimony  in  support  of  his  boast.  He  had  asked  for 
time,  and  ample  time  had  been  allowed  him;  yet  he  was 
no  nearer  the  visible  proofs  than  the  day  when  he  had 
spoken. 

What  did  this  demand?  A  frank  acknowledgment. 
Henry  was  fairly  revelling  in  his  own  perversity.  It  had 
begun  to  drizzle,  and  the  pavements  after  twenty-four  hours 
of  soft  weather,  which  had  extracted  the  last  remnants  of 
winter  from  the  soil,  wore  an  ample  covering  of  liquid 
mud.  He  managed  in  crossing  to  the  Public  Garden  to 
smear  one  of  his  boots  conspicuously.  How  like  himself, 
he  reflected,  to  do  this  just  when  he  had  decided  to  pay 
a  call !  If  he  expected  others  to  condone  his  lack  of  social 
grace,  his  habitual  self-consciousness,  his  uncompromising 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  573 

prig-like  rectitude  and  all  his  other  faults,  why  should  he 
not  make  allowances  for  Blaisdell?  Had  not  Priscilla 
always  maintained  that  they  were  simply  different — each 
with  redeeming  qualities,  and  antagonistic  merely  because 
he  insisted  on  it?  Blaisdell  from  the  first  had  been  eager 
to  sink  their  differences  and  shake  hands.  But  he  had 
held  out  obstinately;  from  righteousness  he  believed;  or 
was  it  from  jealousy  ? 

Henry  had  never  felt  so  humble  in  his  life.  It  was  as 
though  a  new  window  had  been  opened  in  his  soul.  Was 
he  not  self-convicted  of  jealousy?  The  refusal  of  his 
aunt's  fortune  had  suddenly  become  a  speck  beside  the 
need  of  bearing  testimony  that  he  was  no  longer  at  least 
so  narrow-minded  as  he  had  professed.  But  the  incident 
provided  the  latest  instance  by  which  to  test  his  guilt.  Not 
for  a  moment  had  he  doubted  as  to  the  course  which  he 
should  pursue;  his  duty  still  seemed  clear  as  daylight. 
And  Chauncey  was  correct — Blaisdell  would  condemn  his 
conduct  as  Utopian.  Sheer  common-sense  forbade  that 
money  should  be  put  beyond  one's  grasp  save  for  a  tan 
gible  reason.  He  could  almost  hear  him  say  it.  Rank 
materialism  in  his  own  eyes;  but  the  point  was,  there 
remained  room  for  a  difference  of  opinion.  Had  not  his 
own  family  questioned  the  wisdom  of  his  decision  ?  Even 
his  spiritually  exacting  mother  for  a  moment  doubted  ? 

It  was  plain  now.  He  had  exaggerated  everything  from 
the  first  and  seen  through  the  lenses  of  jealousy.  It  be 
hooved  him  to  make  amends.  Thus  rejoicing  in  his  per 
versity,  Henry,  who  had  reached  the  head  of  Common 
wealth  Avenue,  paused  suddenly  in  his  onward  stride. 
Reviewing  the  furrowed  relations  between  himself  and 
Blaisdell  with  an  eye  to  future  amity,  he  had  recoiled 
involuntarily  before  the  prospect  and  found  himself  in  the 


574  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

grip  of  an  unmistakable  aversion  which  turned  a  deaf  ear 
to  reason.  But  that  which  made  him  halt — halt  as  before 
treasure  trove — was  the  exultant  thought  which  sprang 
from  this:  Why  did  he  hate  so  relentlessly?  Because  he 
loved  so  much.  Since  this  was  true — and  it  was  desper 
ately  true — there  was  this  great  comfort  in  it:  He  was  at 
least  a  human  lover  and  no  longer  the  abstraction  of  one; 
he  had  ceased  to  be  the  high  priest  of  ethics  wooing  on 
behalf  of  a  frosty  principle;  he  detested  Blaisdell  because 
he  was  his  deadly  rival.  This  self-knowledge  should  be 
his  consolation  while  he  promptly  paid  the  penalty  of  his 
former  blindness. 

When  having  sped  down  the  avenue  through  the  drizzle, 
he  reached  Mr.  A  very 's  house,  Henry,  in  his  eagerness  to 
confess,  stubbed  his  toes  against  the  lower  step  which 
sobered  him,  for  it  recalled  his  damaged  boot.  Happily 
Priscilla  was  at  home.  He  would  have  chafed  at  postpone 
ment.  She  sailed  into  the  drawing-room  with  a  radiant 
welcome  which  confused  him  by  its  cordiality.  To  his  sen 
sitive  appreciation  it  seemed  almost  as  if  she  were  tender 
ing  wordless  congratulations.  There  was  a  sparkle  in  her 
eyes  which  would  have  rewarded  a  volunteer  in  the  current 
war,  but  she  had  already  sanctioned  his  remaining  at  home. 
There  was  something  in  her  manner  which  ignored  his 
sable  garments.  Certainly  she  had  been  much  more  pro 
pitious  since  that  interview  in  Park  Street  when  the  family 
catastrophe  had  transpired.  The  succeeding  weeks  had 
been  crowded  with  events — the  publicity  of  his  uncle's 
marriage,  the  breaking  out  of  the  war,  and  finally  his  aunt's 
death.  They  had  both  been  very  busy,  but  he  had  gath 
ered  from  their  occasional  meetings  that  she  thought 
better  of  him  than  before  that  last  passage  at  arms 
with  Blaisdell.  But  she  had  never  greeted  him  so  unre 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  575 

servedly  as  this.  What  was  it  she  was  longing  to  tell  him  ? 
Ostensibly  he  had  come  to  thank  her  for  her  note  of  con 
dolence  on  his  aunt's  death.  There  was  a  reminder  to  her 
in  his  black  gloves,  one  of  which  he  had  on;  the  other  he 
had  squeezed  nearly  into  a  ball  in  the  process  of  proving 
himself  culpably  but  gloriously  jealous.  He  begrudged  the 
eclipse  of  that  radiantly  wistful  expression;  but  he  must 
needs  express  his  gratitude. 

"I  came  to  thank  you  for  your  note." 

The  eclipse  followed.  "Dear  Miss  Georgiana!  You 
will  miss  her  immensely.  She  took  so  deep  an  interest  in 
everything  you  did;  was  so  proud  of  you.  I  was  very 
fond  of  her,  too." 

"She  has  left  you  a  remembrance.  I  have  just  come 
from  hearing  her  will  read." 

The  radiant  expression  returned,  a  little  subdued  by  the 
proprieties,  but  eager.  "Is  it  true?"  she  asked. 

"True?" 

"That  she  has  made  you  her  residuary  legatee?  Left 
you  the  larger  portion  of  her  property?" 

"How  do  you  happen  to  know?"  Henry  felt  impelled  to 
inquire. 

"My  brother-in-law  told  me  this  morning  that  he  had 
heard  it;  and  that  your  aunt  was  very  rich;  and  naturally 
I  was  interested." 

"Blaisdell?  I  might  have  guessed.  He  seems  to  get 
first  news  of  everything." 

"Very  likely.  But  no  matter  about  him.  I  am  hoping 
for  your  sake — 

"It  is  upon  a  condition — which  I  have  refused.  I  must 
give  up  my  father's  name;  change  it  to  Chippendale." 

Priscilla  gasped  with  astonishment.  "Change  your 
name?" 


576  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

11  Otherwise  the  residue  goes  to  charity." 

"  I  see.    And  you  say  you  have  refused  ?" 

"Yes." 

She  sat  back  speechless.  Involuntarily  she  glanced 
around  the  splendid  room,  as  if  measuring  the  sacrifice  of 
six  hundred  thousand  dollars.  "What  an  eccentric  pro 
vision!" 

"Aunt  Georgiana  was  an  eccentric  woman."  Henry 
had  fathomed  Priscilla's  mercenary  glance.  "There  are 
some  people  who  will  think  my  refusal  eccentric." 

She  nodded  acquiescence,  but  a  soft  light  shone  in  her 
eyes  which  he  failed  to  detect. 

"You  must  remember,"  he  continued,  "that  I  adore  my 
father's  memory.  Worship  the  very  ground  he  trod  on." 

"Are  you  apologizing  to  me  for  your  decision?" 

"  I  believed  you  would  understand.  I  am  sure  you  do — 
even  if  you  cannot  agree  with  me.  Your  brother-in-law, 
for  instance,  will  think  I'm  crazy." 

"Why  do  you  persist  in  dragging  in  my  brother-in-law  ?" 

"Because  I  came  also  to  talk  about  him."  Henry  had 
found  his  opportunity  for  confession.  "I  felt  certain  you 
would  understand  and  that  he  would  not.  You  mustn't 
think  I  do  not  realize  what  half  a  million  signifies  and 
what  an  aid  it  would  be  to  any  one's  life.  There  are  two 
sides  to  the  question  and  you — you  are  broad-minded 
enough  to  comprehend  my  side  no  less  than  the  other. 
There  are  two  sides  to  this  as  there  are  two  sides  to  most 
questions.  I  am  apt  to  see  only  one;  I  fear  I  see  only  one 
still."  He  paused  a  moment  then  continued  abruptly: 
"You  will  remember  that  I  asked  time  to  prove  that  your 
brother-in-law  is  a  demoralizing  influence  in  the  com 
munity." 

"More  than  three  years  ago,"  she  answered  with  the 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  577 

p-omptness  of  one  who  has  kept  close  tally  in  expectation 
of  ^-reckoning  day. 

"  I  have  had  ample  time,  but  I  am  unable  to  produce  the 
jlon't  v  i  Can  point  to  nothing  definite  in  support  of  what 
].  donned,  go  —  er  —  in  justice  to  him,  I  have  come  to  tell 


mean  that  you  have  altered  your  estimate  of  Hugh 
Blaisdell?" 

"I  did  not  say  that."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  re 
sumed,  throwing  up  his  head,  "In  a  measure,  yes.  For  if 
I  lack  the  proofs,  does  it  not  follow  that  I  must  be  prej 
udiced?" 

Instead  of  answering  the  question  she  let  fall  her  eyes, 
realizing  that  he  would  go  on.  "I  have  not  been  wholly 
just  to  him,"  he  said.  "We  are  the  antipodes  of  one  an 
other  —  you  always  told  me  that.  The  very  fact  that  we 
were  so  different  —  saw  everything  from  diametrically 
opposite  poles,  ought  to  have  put  me  on  my  guard  to  make 
the  most  of  his  good  qualities  —  and  they  are  conspicuous 
—rather  than  dwell  on  and  emphasize  his  defects.  I  owe 
it  to  you  to  admit  that  I  have  from  the  first  pursued  the 
illiberal  policy  and  shut  my  eyes  to  his  merits.  My  limi 
tations  were  to  blame;  but  that  does  not  excuse  me." 

"When  did  you  discover  this?"  Priscilla  asked  gently. 

He  could  not  see  her  expression  for  her  face  was  lowered. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  carpet  directly  in  the  line  of  his 
muddy  boot  which,  with  a  self-conscious  fidget,  he  endeav 
ored  to  shield  behind  its  mate.  "I  should  have  recognized 
it  long  ago.  I  never  did  with  full  force  until  to-day." 

"To-day?"  she  echoed. 

"This  afternoon  when,  although  it  was  so  clear  to  me 
that  I  could  not  accept  my  aunt's  fortune,  the  contrary 
view  appealed  to  others  —  and  some  one  said,  'Blaisdell 


578  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

carries  weight  in  the  community  and  he  would  be  sure, to 
accept.'" 

"Yes,  Hugh  would  accept.  There  is  not  the  sm-r  * 
doubt  of  that."  Her  speech  resembled  a  monologue.nced 
Henry's  ears  it  sounded  as  a  Greek  chorus  to  hi^e  of 
abasement.  Pr°- 

"I  said  to  myself  that  he  did  carry  weight  in  the  com 
munity;  was  looked  up  to  with  admiration  even  by  some 
of  my  own  relatives.  Then  I  remembered  that  I  was  not 
able  to  furnish  a  single  concrete  proof  in  support  of  my 
charges,  and — and  I  saw  that  I  had  been  narrow  and 
unjust." 

"Then  you  can  be  friends  after  all."  Priscilla's  head 
was  still  lowered.  Her  voice  might  have  been  that  of  the 
priestess  at  a  sacrifice. 

"Friends?" 

The  revolt  in  his  voice  caused  her  to  look  up. 

"Blaisdell  and  I  can  never  be  friends,"  he  continued, 
regarding  her  steadily  and  speaking  with  an  intensity 
which  he  made  no  effort  to  control.  "We  are  completely 
uncongenial.  In  spite  of  all  I  have  said  he  remains  repug 
nant  to  me.  I  dislike  him  greatly."  Then  as  he  saw  the 
color  rise  to  her  cheeks  in  response  to  this  animosity,  he 
added:  "It  may  pain  you  to  hear  this,  but  you  should  be 
able  to  guess  the  reason." 

He  rose  to  go,  but  her  demeanor  baffled  him.  At  least 
she  was  not  indignant.  Her  lovely  eyes  were  sparkling 
with  a  refulgence  which  almost  suggested  merriment. 
But  Henry  was  bent  on  drinking  the  cup  of  humiliation  to 
the  dregs.  "I  have  failed  to  keep  my  compact  with  you — 
to  bring  you  the  promised  proofs;  and  so  you  are  justified 
in  despising  me.  May  I  add  that  you  have  been  very  fore- 
bearing  with  me?"  He  bowed  and  turned  to  depart. 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  579 

"Don't  go,"  she  said  sweetly. 

Starting  he  faced  her. 

"I  found  the  proofs  long  ago.  Do  you  think  that  I 
don't  know  by  this  time  what  Hugh  is — do  you  think  that 
I  don't  know  what  you  are?  Do  you  believe  me  still  so 
blind,  Henry?" 

For  an  instant  he  stood  dumfounded. 

"Found  the  proofs  long  ago?"  he  echoed.  But  what 
other  interpretation  could  be  put  on  her  words  than  their 
literal  meaning?  More  glorious  still,  she  had  called  him 
by  his  Christian  name.  Standing  there  with  glowing 
cheeks  and  parted  lips,  more  beautiful  and  winsome  than 
he  had  ever  beheld  her,  why  did  she  look  at  him  so 
strangely?  Was  she  mocking  him,  or  could  it  be  that 
Morgan's  prophecy  had  come  true  and  that  she  was  ready 
to  fall  into  his  arms  with  a  dull,  sickening  thud?  The 
whimsical  phrase  floated  across  his  swimming  brain; 
springing  forward  he  clasped  Priscilla  to  his  breast  just  in 
time,  for  as  she  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  she  cried: 

"Were  you  going  to  oblige  me  to  offer  myself  to  you, 
Henry?" 

"Dull,  consistent  idiot  that  I  was,"  he  began,  but  she 
stopped  his  mouth  with  a  kiss. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  said.  "You  are  a  typical  Boston 
man;  you  have  no  real  enthusiasm,  no  red  blood;  only  an 
acute  moral  sense.  And  yet  I  love  you.  Think  of  that." 

"Wonder  of  wonders!"  he  exclaimed.  To  hold  her  cap 
tive  in  his  arms  at  last  after  all  these  years  taxed  Henry's 
faith  in  his  own  senses.  "Is  it  true?  Really  true?  Tell 
me  I  am  not  dreaming." 

"Love  you,  dearest,  to  my  joy,  my  pride,  my  glory!" 
Priscilla' s  voice  became  almost  a  sob  in  the  fulness  of  her 
glad  confession.  Lifting  her  head  she  freed  herself  and 


580  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

dropped  him  an  adoring  curtesy.    "  Henceforth  you  are  my 
lord  and  master,  if  you  will." 

Was  she  teaching1  him  to  woo  ?  Where  was  his  place 
but  at  her  feet?  "If  I  will?  And  I  feared  I  had  lost  you 
forever,  Priscilla  darling."  Falling  on  one  knee,  Henry 
clasped  her  hand  and  covered  it  with  kisses.  Clumsy  and 
inarticulate  though  he  might  be,  his  posture  at  least 
should  proclaim  the  transport  in  his  soul.  "I  have  wor 
shipped  you  all  these  years,"  he  said,  "as  you  well  know. 
I  loved  you  from  the  hour  we  first  met.  You  are  the  only 
woman  I  have  ever  loved.  Believe  me  that  my  love  shall 
never  die — 

'Till  the  sun  grows  cold 

And  the  stars  grow  old 
And  the  leaves  of  the  Judgment  book  unfold.' 

Sweet  as  were  the  ardent  phrases,  Priscilla  looked  down 
at  him  archly. 

"You  threw  me  over  for  your  sister.  Do  you  remember 
—Mr.  Hafiz  Sumner?" 

"Ah,  do  not  remind  me  of  it." 

"And  apologized  for  not  asking  me  to  marry  you." 

"But  tell  me  that  I  have  improved  a  little,"  he  implored. 

"A  little — yes,  just  a  little,"  she  mused  joyously.  "But 
you  are  substantially  the  same.  Yet  are  you  not  my  own 
true  love?" 

There  was  that  in  the  inquiry  which  bade  the  transported 
Henry  spring  to  his  feet  and  spread  his  arms  for  a  fresh 
embrace.  But  Priscilla  gaily  drew  back  and,  laying  her 
hands  upon  his  shoulders,  she  held  him  at  arm's  length, 
crying: 

"Yes,  you  have  loved  me  for  years  in  your  crawfish 
way;  but  you  have  not  really  changed.  Even  now  as  you 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  581 

look  at  me  you're  realizing  that  I  am  virtually  an  old  maid 
and  are  picking  out  unconsciously  the  weak  points  in  my 
personal  appearance.  Yes,  you  are,"  she  continued,  gazing 
into  his  ecstatic  but  still  bewildered  eyes.  "You  can't 
help  it— you  can't  help  it.  It's  you— it  always  will  be  you. 
But  it's  no  matter— for  I  have  tested  you,  my  lord  and 
master,  and  you  are  the  truest  of  them  all." 

Thus  by  this  glad  surrender  was  Morgan  Drake's 
prophecy  justified  and  Priscilla's  troth  plighted.  But  even 
in  the  presence  of  these  blissful  but  promising  nuptials, 
the  student  of  human  nature  must  perforce  admit  that  not 
the  doughty  deeds  of  a  Bostonian  but  rather  the  things  he 
will  not  do  are  his  highest  title  to  distinction. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

HENRY  SUMNER'S  renunciation  of  more  than  half  a 
million  rather  than  change  his  name  stirred  Boston  to  its 
depths.  All  the  newspapers  published  his  decision  in 
flaring  headlines,  and  the  Mercury,  in  its  Sunday  edition 
of  the  following  week,  printed  a  symposium  by  well-known 
citizens  of  both  sexes  with  the  caption,  "What  would  you 
do  under  similar  circumstances?" 

But  the  Back  Bay  was  the  storm  centre  of  agitation. 
At  the  last  meeting  for  the  season  of  the  Mother  Eve's 
Club  the  topic  was  fiercely  debated  behind  closed  doors. 
According  to  rumor,  Henry's  action  was  approved,  but  by 
a  less  conclusive  majority  than  his  admirers  had  looked  for. 
The  opposition  owed  its  strength  to  a  speech  by  Miss 
Winston,  who  earnestly  pleaded  that  it  was  incumbent  on 
him  for  the  sake  of  his  future  children  to  disregard  senti- 


582  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

ment  and  keep  the  money.  While  the  inner  circles  of  Bos 
ton  were  revolving  the  question  whether  this  frankly  utili 
tarian  view  was  not,  after  all,  fundamentally  sound,  the 
breath  was,  so  to  speak,  suddenly  knocked  out  of  Miss 
Winston's  argument  by  the  announcement  of  Henry's 
engagement  to  Priscilla  Avery.  Manifestly  the  children 
born  of  this  union  would  not  lack  an  abundant  share  of 
this  world's  goods. 

Those  who  regarded  Henry's  conduct  as  Utopian  sought 
to  belittle  it  by  the  insinuation  that  he  was  already  engaged 
at  the  time  his  decision  was  made.  Positive  denials  to  the 
contrary  were  still  rife  when  the  marriage  ceremony  itself 
took  place  in  Trinity  Church,  but  in  the  presence  only  of 
the  near  relations;  and  the  happy  pair  sailed  immediately 
to  pass  their  honeymoon  in  Europe. 

Their  wedding  was  in  the  nature  of  a  compromise. 
Mrs.  Avery,  who  hungered  for  an  elaborate  function,  solici 
tously  pointed  out  that  the  arrangements  for  the  wedding 
dress,  the  wedding  cake,  the  wedding  invitations  and  the 
various  other  details  demanded  three  months  rather  than 
three  weeks.  Henry,  on  his  side,  proposed  slipping  out 
some  fine  morning  and  being  made  man  and  wife  off-hand. 
Priscilla  demurred  at  this  and  also  at  the  idea  of  being 
married  in  a  travelling  dress.  However  few  the  witnesses, 
her  wedding  garment  should  be  worthy  of  the  occasion — 
the  most  fateful  moment  in  every  woman's  life,  when  she 
ought  to  look  her  loveliest.  Was  not  one  of  the  opportu 
nities  of  wealth  to  deck  the  bride?  The  veil  of  choicest 
lace,  the  lustrous  diamonds,  were  but  symbols;  yet  if 
woman  were  to  abdicate  her  office  as  the  high  priestess  of 
beauty,  what  would  befall  a  workaday  world  ?  She  had 
no  intention  of  becoming  dowdy  or  even  of  modelling  her 
self  on  a  New  England  school-ma'am,  because  she  was  so 


THE   CHIPPENDALES  583 

fortunate  as  to  be  about  to  marry  a  man  with  a  sensitive 
New  England  conscience.  Was  not  a  wedding  in  the 
presence  of  kinsfolk  and  dearest  friends — despite  occa 
sional  mercenary  display— one  of  the  few  picturesque 
ceremonies  remaining  in  an  age  given  over  to  short  cuts 
and  colorless  informalities  ? 

At  the  same  time  Priscilla  acknowledged  the  perfect 
accuracy  of  her  lover's  further  plea— gingerly  expressed  to 
save  her  feelings,  but  none  the  less  potent — that  so  much 
of  their  youth  had  already  been  consumed  in  finding  out 
that  they  loved  each  other,  it  behooved  them  to  be 
married  as  soon  as  possible.  There  was  no  blinking  the 
fact  that  she  was  already  an  old  maid;  why  tolerate  fur 
ther  delay  ?  Moreover,  the  summer  vacation  was  at  hand. 
So  Priscilla  fixed  the  day  arbitrarily  and  the  arrangements 
were  made  to  conform  thereto.  Henry,  haunted  by  the 
fear  that  he  would  misplace  the  wedding  ring,  fingered  it 
nervously  in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  Yet  as  he  walked 
proudly  down  the  aisle  with  the  bride  on  his  arm,  for  whom 
he  had  served  more  faithfully  than  Jacob  for  Rachel,  even 
Blaisdell,  who  was  congratulating  himself  on  not  standing 
in  his  shoes,  was  forced  to  admit  that  the  groom  could  cut 
an  aristocratic  figure  when  his  mind  was  set  on  it.  Some 
good  genius  had  prompted  Henry  to  order  a  new  frock 
coat,  not  rely  on  the  ancient  article  reserved  for  use  on 
Sundays  and  at  afternoon  teas.  But  Mrs.  Sumner's  eyes, 
as  the  couple  came  abreast  of  her,  though  they  keenly 
noted  externals,  solved  the  wrapt  expression  on  her  son's 
face  with  the  phrase— 

"He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him." 

The  sweetness  of  her  surrender  still  lingered  on  Priscilla's 
brow  and  her  loveliness  wore  the  glorified  charm  of  the 


584  THE   CHIPPENDALES 

bride  who  has  no  doubts.  So  it  seemed  to  her  mother-in- 
law,  who  forthwith  forgave  her  for  belonging  to  the  Epis 
copal  Church — Mrs.  Sumner's  only  remaining  grievance. 
Priscilla's  repudiation  as  a  girl  of  the  Unitarian  faith  in 
which  she  had  been  brought  up  by  her  father  was  part  of 
her  protest  against  the  New  England  conscience.  Might 
not  Henry  be  relied  on  to  be  true  to  the  religious  convic 
tions  of  his  ancestors  every  other  Sunday?  Might  not 
even  Priscilla  consent  in  time  to  worship  regularly  at 
King's  Chapel,  where,  though  the  doctrine  preached  was 
Unitarian,  an  expurgated  text  of  the  Church  of  England 
service  was  in  use  ? 

Nor  was  the  radiant  beauty  of  the  bride  lost  on  Blaisdell. 
Despite  his  self-congratulations  he  winced  a  little  as  she 
passed.  But  though  he  did  not  have  the  satisfaction  of 
observing  that  she  looked  pale,  his  conviction  that  he  was 
well  rid  of  her  as  a  wife  was  reaffirmed  by  the  expression  of 
her  nostrils  which  still  indicated  to  him  the  fiery,  restless 
steed.  He  had  made  her  a  superb  present — a  necklace  of 
the  finest  pearls — to  show  how  genuinely  sentiment  had 
subsided  into  friendship  and  sisterly  regard.  Moreover, 
save  for  this  one  instant  of  involuntary  regret,  BlaisdelPs 
mind  was  busy  with  other  thoughts — thoughts  which 
shaped  themselves  at  the  wedding  breakfast  still  more 
definitely,  for  he  found  himself  at  one  of  the  small  tables 
for  four  with  Chauncey  Chippendale's  wife  and  sister 
Georgiana.  He  forgot  the  bride's  existence  in  his  enjoy 
ment  of  the  consciousness  that  they  both  were  being  delib 
erately  civil  to  him,  and  that  the  civility  of  the  one  differed 
from  the  civility  of  the  other.  Mrs.  Chauncey  had  been 
coached  by  her  husband  to  try  her  fascinations  on  him  as 
a  last  resort — this  was  clear.  As  for  Georgiana,  it  was  she 
who  had  engineered  that  he  should  occupy  this  table  with 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  585 

them.  There  was  one  at  least  of  the  Chippendale  family 
on  whom  he  had  made  a  favorable  impression  from  the 
time  when  they  first  had  met— and  she  the  only  beauty  of 
the  stock.  Blaisdell  enjoyed  the  triumphant  sensation  of 
sitting  between  two  such  fashionable  and  handsome  women. 
The  efforts  of  Beatrice  to  cajole  entertained  him  and  at 
the  same  time  were  flattering.  The  accomplishment  of 
one  of  his  two  great  ambitions  was  close  at  hand;  but  it 
had  ever  been  his  policy  to  avoid  scars.  If  the  abdication 
of  his  rival  on  State  Street  might  be  bloodless,  so  much  the 
better.  He  listened  graciously  to  the  inquiries  which  Mrs. 
Chippendale  was  making  concerning  Lora's  daughter. 
How  old  was  Dorothy  now?  And  how  long  before  she 
would  "come  out"  ?  Then  some  one  rose — it  was  Chaun- 
cey — to  propose  the  health  of  the  bride. 

The  bride  ?  She  had  been  his  other  ambition — the  most 
engrossing  of  the  two  at  one  time.  Fortunately  it  had  be 
come  unattainable — chiefly  because  he  had  changed  his 
mind.  However  great  the  obstacles  he  would  have  over 
come  them  at  last  had  not  his  ardor  cooled.  The  midday 
glass  of  champagne  of  which  Blaisdell  had  already  par 
taken  gave  new  zest  to  this  comforting  reflection.  He  had 
never  failed  yet  in  attaining  anything  on  which  his  heart 
was  tenaciously  set.  His  only  regret  was  that  his  house 
lacked  a  mistress  and  Lora's  children  a  mother. 
"The  health  of  the  bride!" 

Blaisdell  raised  his  glass  with  gusto  and  drank.  Chanc 
ing  to  shift  his  glance  slightly,  he  surprised  the  eyes  of 
Georgiana  fixed  on  him  in  covert  scrutiny.  She  turned 
away  with  lady-like  composure  leaving  him  to  contemplate 
only  her  finely  cut  profile  and  well-poised  head.  He  gazed 
for  a  moment,  then  drained  his  champagne  to  the  last  drop 
in  exultant  recognition  that  a  stealthy  thought  lately  enter- 


586  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

tained  by  him  had  been  galvanized  into  a  dominating 
purpose. 

Not  long  after  the  small  company  of  guests  was  de 
parting. 

"Don't  forget  your  box  of  wedding  cake,  Hugh,"  cried 
Mrs.  Avery,  who  was  in  the  best  of  spirits,  having  been 
hand-in-glove  for  an  hour  with  the  entire  Chippendale- 
Sumner  connection.  She  hoped  it  might  continue  for  the 
rest  of  her  life.  She  had  been  so  bold  already  as  to  confide 
to  several  of  the  family  her  shrewd  criticism  on  the  match 
—that  so  far  as  she  was  able  to  discover,  Henry  and  dear 
Priscilla  might  just  as  well  have  married  fifteen  years 
sooner. 

^  Possessing  himself  of  one  of  the  boxes  Blaisdell  bided 
his  time  so  as  to  escort  to  their  carriage  the  two  ladies 
whose  companion  he  had  been  at  breakfast.  He  was  in 
the  act  of  closing  the  carriage  door  when  Georgiana  ex 
claimed  with  dismay:  "I've  forgotten  my  wedding  cake." 
It  was  plain  that  she  had  been  reminded  by  the  sight  of  the 
box  which  Blaisdell  held.  "Take  mine,"  he  responded 
instantly,  and  he  thrust  it  into  her  hands.  "  Thank  you 
very  much,  Mr.  Blaisdell.  I  wanted  some  to  dream  on. 
Don't  forget  your  promise  to  call  some  Sunday  afternoon." 

One  morning  about  three  weeks  subsequent  to  the 
wedding  Chauncey  Chippendale  sat  at  his  desk  in  the 
spacious  offices  of  Langdon  &  Company  lost  in  melancholy 
thought.  He  was  expecting  a  visitor  and  he  was  wonder 
ing  what  the  upshot  of  the  interview  was  likely  to  be.  So 
far  as  outward  appearances  the  world  had  no  reason  to 
imagine  that  any  one  on  the  Back  Bay  was  more  prosperous 
than  he;  and  yet  he  stood  on  the  brink  of  catastrophe.  Not 
only  was  his  commercial  prestige  on  State  Street  in  jeop 
ardy,  but  he  was  financially  crippled.  If  his  notes  to  the 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  587 

banks  which  would  become  due  in  the  next  sixty  days  were 
not  renewed  his  private  fortune  would  be  virtually  swept 
away,  and  his  firm  be  able  to  escape  embarrassment  only 
by  that  most  mortifying  of  expedients,  an  appeal  to  his 
father-in-law.  General  Langdon  on  his  retirement  had 
allowed  a  liberal  sum  to  remain  on  interest  with  the  new 
partnership.  To  apply  to  him  further  in  the  face  of  this 
would  be  equivalent  to  an  admission  of  incapacity  and 
failure. 

Was  it  his  own  fault  ?  Had  he  been  rash  ?  Chauncey 
had  put  these  questions  to  himself  frequently  of  late,  and 
he  asked  them  now  again.  He  must  admit  that  his  course 
in  life  had  not  been  in  strict  conformity  with  precedent; 
he  had  certainly  overstepped  the  limits  of  that  traditional 
Boston  conservatism  which  hived  half  of  its  annual  income 
and  left  a  strong  box  crammed  with  Boston  &  Albany, 
C.  B.  &  Q.  and  other  gilt-edged  securities.  His  excuse— 
his  justification  was  that  times  had  changed.  It  was  a  pro 
gressive  age — and  the  most  signal  change  of  all  was  that 
the  younger  generation  had  difficulty  in  living  on  three  or 
four  times  more  than  it  cost  its  fathers  and  mothers. 
There  was  where  the  shoe  pinched;  the  older  generation 
was  able  to  save  because  it  had  such  few  expenses— cared 
for  so  few  things— and  everything  cost  so  little.  It  was 
necessary  for  the  ambitious  man  of  the  present  day  who 
desired  to  grow  rich  to  take  chances — the  risks  of  modern 
business  enterprise.  He  had  merely  taken  these  chances 
and  circumstances  had  combined  against  him.  But  for 
the  series  of  untoward  events  following  in  quick  succession 
which  fortune  had  arrayed  against  him,  he  would  not  have 
been  worsted. 

His  judgment  had  been  good.    He  had  picked  out  Elec 
tric  Coke  as  a  winner  from  the  start  and  clung  to  it.    He 


588  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

had  no  doubt  that  its  intrinsic  value  to-day  was  greater 
than  ever.  Whoever  obtained  absolute  control  would  reap 
eventually  a  still  more  splendid  harvest.  But  the  stock 
had  been  the  weakest  on  the  list  of  late;  purposely  de 
pressed,  he  had  every  reason  to  believe,  for  the  purpose  of 
accumulation — of  forcing  out  weak  holders.  And  he  was 
powerless  to  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity  for  lack  of 
ready  money.  Even  the  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
left  him  by  his  aunt  would  be  needed  to  replenish  the 
depreciation  in  value  of  his  collateral  in  case  the  banks 
were  ready  to  renew  the  loans. 

Yet  Boston  was  richer  than  ever.  The  huge  safety 
deposit  boxes  now  held  private  fortunes  compared  with 
which  the  wealth  of  those  who  had  died  in  the  previous 
generation  dwindled  into  insignificance.  His  own  father, 
once  considered  rich,  lived  almost  in  genteel  poverty. 
His  uncle  and  aunt  had  left  large  estates,  yet  inconspicuous 
if  measured  by  the  standards  of  the  new  plutocracy.  If 
luck  had  not  been  against  him,  he  might  have  become  one 
of  the  geniunely  rich,  and,  keeping  pace  with  the  march  of 
events,  maintained  the  social  leadership  of  the  Chippen 
dales.  Instead — an  interview  must  presently  be  under 
gone  which  would  either  mean  the  sacrifice  of  family  pride 
— eating  humble  pie — or  comparative  ruin. 

Chauncey  sighed  and  bit  his  lip.  One  thing  which  he 
ever  prided  himself  on  was  that  he  was  a  good  "  sports 
man."  He  had  played  the  "game,"  and  he  must  play  it 
to  the  end  with  all  the  courage  and  also  with  all  the  intelli 
gence  which  he  possessed.  If  it  came  to  the  worst,  must 
he  not  for  his  wife's  sake  take  General  Langdon  into  his 
counsels  and  be  tided  over  his  immediate  necessities? 
Humiliating  as  this  would  be,  it  would  only  be  common- 
sense.  Yet  it  would  mean  the  loss  of  his  position  as  a 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  589 

leader  down-town  and  a  death  blow  to  his  ambition  as  a 
financier.  Trying  instinctively  to  think  if  there  were  not 
some  one  else  to  whom  he  could  apply,  his  mind  con 
jured  up  Henry.  Henry  was  abroad,  so  it  was  out  of 
the  question.  Besides,  the  money  belonged  to  Henry's 
wife. 

Nevertheless  he  lingered  on  the  reflection  and  with 
amusement.  Henry  was  disgustingly  rich;  a  dripping-pan 
in  spite  of  himself  and  of  having  always  been  indifferent  to 
money.  Was  it  not  the  irony  of  fate?  Henry  needed  so 
little,  and  he  so  much;  yet  Henry  and  Priscilla  had  more 
than  they  knew  what  to  do  with.  They  would  be  able  to 
live  sumptuously  on  a  modern  scale  and  yet  continue  the 
dynasty  of  worthy  public-spirited  Bostonians  who  sub 
scribed  to  every  deserving  cause,  made  liberal  benefactions 
to  Harvard  College,  and  saved  up  part  of  each  year's  in 
come.  Priscilla,  to  be  sure,  could  be  counted  on  to  temper 
Henry's  asceticism,  but  their  ultimate  aims  would  be  iden 
tical,  and  the  Puritan  impulse  leavened  still  remain  a  ruling 
power  in  Boston. 

Chauncey  smiled  at  the  mental  picture  which  he  drew. 
He  could  not  deny  that  Henry  had  deserved  his  good  for 
tune.  His  only  stricture  was  that  it  was  wasted  on  his 
cousin.  There  appeared  to  be,  after  all,  he  reflected,  a 
sort  of  alliance  between  thrift  and  righteousness  in  such 
instances  which  fostered  dripping-pans.  He  glanced  at  the 
small  clock  on  his  desk.  It  was  almost  on  the  stroke  of 
noon — the  hour  of  his  appointment.  BlaisdelFs  letter  of 
the  previous  day — "May  I  come  to  see  you  to-morrow  at 
twelve  o'clock?  I  should  like  to  confabulate  on  certain 
matters" — lay  before  him.  His  mind  had  dwelt  on  the 
contents  ever  since.  They  savored  of  mystery.  Confabu 
lation  was  a  word  of  easy-going  import,  but  he  knew  that 


590  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

it  would  be  characteristic  of  Blaisdell  to  hand  him  a  cup 
of  hemlock  with  a  propitiating  face. 

He  heard  steps  and  turned.  His  visitor,  punctual  to  a 
moment,  was  being  ushered  in.  Chauncey  noticed  his 
quick,  business-like  tread,  and  the  breezy  yet  alert  urbanity 
with  which  he  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  junior  who 
had  piloted  him.  There  was  that  in  the  combination  of  his 
medium  height,  thickset  figure,  round  face  and  small, 
observant  eyes  which  suggested  to  Chauncey's  sensitive 
apprehension  success  personified.  He  had  no  nerves,  no 
harassing  sensibilities,  and  adversity  flowed  off  him  like 
water  off  a  duck's  back.  Was  he  not  able  at  necessity  to 
dive  at  the  flash  and  come  up  smiling  in  another  spot? 

"I  wrote  to  make  sure  that  you  would  be  disengaged. 
.  have  been  hoping  some  time  for  the  opportunity  to  dis 
cuss  certain  matters  with  you,   Chippendale.     But  I'm 
glad,"  he  added  with  an  odd  smile,  "in  the  light  of— er— 
what  I  know  to-day  that  I  was  dilatory." 

Blaisdell  had  seated  himself.     "Can  you  give  me  half 
an  hour  alone?"  he  asked. 

Chauncey  rose  and  closed  the  door.     "I  have  already 
given  orders  that  we  are  not  to  be  disturbed." 

Blaisdell  sat  back  comfortably  in  his  chair  with  his 
hands  resting  lightly  on  its  arms.  He  looked  Chauncey 
squarely  in  the  face  as  if  to  demonstrate  his  frankness. 
"Pll  come  straight  to  the  point  to  begin  with— and  then 
we'll  consider  the  pros  and  cons.  I  think  I  spoke  to  you 
once,  Chippendale,  about  an  idiosyncrasy  or  fad  of  mine. 
I  didn't  seek  to  justify  it  then  on  strictly  rational  grounds; 
I  don't  now.  But  it  still  exists— obsesses  me,  as  they  say 
nowadays,  and  I've  come  to  make  you  an  offer."  Blaisdell 
paused  to  draw  out  an  envelope  from  his  inside  pocket. 
"I've  put  it  in  writing,  and  it  stands  good  for  the  next  sixty 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  591 

days  I  am  ready  to  pay  you  one  thousand  dollars  per 
share  for  the  entire  holdings  in  Electric  Coke  controlled  by 
you  and  your  following.  The  whole  or  none.  My  figure 
is  a  liberal  one— nearly  three  hundred  dollars  per  share 
above  the  current  nominal  market  price.  Look  this  over 
at  your  leisure,  but  it  simply  formulates  what  I  have  just 

told  you." 

Chauncey  took  the  paper  and  glanced  at  it  mechanically 
to  gain  time:  The  offer  was  not  unexpected;  the  price 
named  was  conspicuously  generous.  He  could  scarcely 
have  demurred  as  a  business  proposition  to  terms  of 
slaughter  at  what  his  visitor  had  appropriately  calk 
current  nominal  price. 

"I  remember  perfectly  your  offer  some  two  years  ago 
buy  me  out,  and  that  you  described  your  desire  for  control 
as  a  fad.    Electric  Coke  is  worth  more  than  $1,000  a  share, 

Blaisdell." 

-Unquestionably,  yes— intrinsically  Aat  is. 
I  should  not  be  making  you  this  offer." 

"  And  the  recent  depression  in  the  stock  is  artificial. 

"I  have  already  intimated  so.     My  figure  implies 
But  the  future  value  is,  in  my  opinion,  largely  contingent 
on  the  management.     If  the  control  of    the    company 
continues  to  be  divided,  I  shall  expect  to  see  the  stock 
sell  considerably  lower  than  the  present  market  quotation 

Chauncey  flushed.  The  suave  rejoinder  was  appallingly 
explicit,  yet  provided  no  ground  of  offence.  The  offer  was 
open  for  sixty  days;  if  not  accepted,  his  loans  would 
called  on  the  plea  that  the  securities  of  his  various  new 
enterprises  were  no  longer  acceptable ;  and  then  Electric 
Coke  would  break  sharply.  The  sequence  of  events  was 
clearly  foreshadowed;  and  he  was  left  to  choose  between 
two  alternatives,  either  of  which  would  involve  a  crushing 


592  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

blow  to  his  pride — surrender  or  disaster.  Why  should  he 
not  choose  the  lesser  of  these  evils  ? 

But  why,  if  Blaisdell  was  prepared  to  crush  him  if  he 
refused,  had  he  made  an  offer  so  much  above  the  market  ? 
The  query  suddenly  forced  itself  on  his  mind  and  became 
predominant.  A  Chippendale  accept  mercy?  Such  a 
proposition  would  be  the  worst  sort  of  affront.  In  his 
swift  resentment  of  the  possibility  that  he  was  being 
treated  as  an  object  of  charity,  Chauncey  realized  how 
much  he  was  growing  to  resemble  his  own  father.  What 
reason  had  prompted  Blaisdell  to  stay  his  hand  ?  Chaun- 
cey's  suspicions  were  awakened;  yet  for  the  moment 
there  was  nothing  tangible  to  pounce  on.  Instead,  he 
sought  to  relieve  the  entire  situation  by  grasping  at  what 
he  realized  to  be  a  straw. 

"Have  you  ever  considered,  Hugh,"  he  said,  "that  if  you 
and  I  were  to  combine  forces  in  Electric  Coke  instead  of 
trying  perpetually  to  outbid  and  oust  the  other,  the  stock 
would  sell  at  any  price  we  two  chose  to  set  for  it?" 

A  flag  of  truce  from  a  Chippendale.  A  trifle  late  in  the 
campaign,  but,  to  a  philosophical  mind  like  Blaisdell's, 
diverting.  The  moment  was  one  of  the  sweetest  in  his 
life,  and  his  infinitely  good-humored  mouth  revealed  be 
neath  its  stiff  mustache  a  shade  of  exultation. 

"We  two?  I  doubt  it,  Chauncey.  You  and  I  are  very 
differently  constituted.  We  approach  almost  everything 
from  a  different  standpoint ;  consequently  our  views  in 
regard  to  the  management  of  a  big  corporation  could  hardly 
fail  to  be  dissimilar.  We've  been  brought  up  in  different 
schools."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  resumed  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes:  "I'm  a  stranger  in  Boston — a  stranger 
by  birth  and  antecedents.  In  some  ways  this  has  been  a 
handicap  possibly;  in  others  I  flatter  myself  that  it  has 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  593 

proved  to  be  an  advantage.  Any  success  which  I  have 
achieved  may  be  partially  due  to  a  keener  appreciation  of 
modern  business  methods  than  those  born  and  bred  here 
possess,  and— er— by  my  lack  of  familiarity  with  certain 
provincial  customs  to  which  they  choose  to  remain  sub 
servient.  All  this  explains  why  I'd  rather  continue  to 
paddle  my  own  canoe  and  avoid  what  might  prove  to  be 
entangling  alliances." 

"He  deliberately  dares  to  show  and  glory  in  the  cloven 
hoof  at  last,"  said  the  amazed  Chauncey  to  himself.  His 
nerves  tingled  with  the  desire  to  show  his  visitor  the  door 
in  response  to  the  smooth  impertinence  by  which  his  pro 
posal  of  cooperation  had  been  rejected.  But  his  dire 
necessities  bade  him  sit  still  and  even  apply  the  salve  of 
satire  to  his  ire;  for  the  audacious  plausibility  of  the 
homily  invoked  his  sense  of  humor. 

"I  appreciate  what  you  mean,  Blaisdell.  You  have  a 
hold  on  Boston,  I  admit,  which  is  partially  due,  as  you 
suggest,  to  your  lack  of  familiarity  with  many  things  which 
seem  important  to  the  rest  of  us.  In  view  of  that  hold- 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  for  the  time  being,  at  any  rate,  you 
seem  to  have  an  advantage  down-town  which  has  led  you 
to  make  me  an  offer,  I'm  curious  to  know  before  I  consent 
to  sell  out  my  interest  in  Electric  Coke— why  you  offer  me 
three  hundred  dollars  a  share  more  than  the  market  price? 
Frankly,  that  puzzles  me— and  I'm  provincial  enough  still 
to  wish  to  inquire  the  reason  of  it." 

Blaisdell  regarded  him  blandly.  "  Do  you  suspect  me  of 
premeditated  philanthropy?" 

Chauncey  frowned  at  this  penetration  of  his  solicitude. 
"Scarcely,"  he  said  somewhat  haughtily.  "But  such  a 
sacrifice,  unexplained,  would  seem  inconsistent  with  those 
modern  business  methods  to  which  you  referred  just  now." 


594  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

BlaisdelPs  smile  broadened.  "That  illustrates,  if  I  may 
say  so,  your  ignorance  of  those  methods.  I  have  always 
been  ready  to  give  you  a  fair  price  for  your  stock,  Chaun- 
cey.  I  wanted  it  and  you  knew  that  I  wanted  it,  and  the 
surest  way  to  get  it  was  to  make  you  a  liberal  proposition. 
To  offer  you  the  current  market  price— crowd  you,  so  to 
speak— would  have  antagonized  you,  and  stood  in  the 
way  of  a  harmonious  deal.  I  should  have  made  an  enemy 
of  you  to  no  purpose  in  the  long  run."  He  paused  a  mo 
ment,  then  resumed:  "I  don't  say  that  a  week  ago  I  would 
have  begun  with  an  offer  of  one  thousand  dollars  a  share. 
But  the  situation  has  changed  since  then.  I  want  the 
stock  just  as  badly  as  ever  and  my  relations  toward  you  are 
altered.  I  was  speaking  just  now  of  entangling  alliances. 
There  is  one  in  favor  of  which  I  am  about  to  make  a  glit 
tering  exception  to  my  general  line  of  conduct.  Chauncey, 
I've  also  come  to  tell  you  of  my  engagement  to  your  sister 
Georgiana." 

The  dumfounded  Chauncey  stared,  then  sprang  for 
ward  in  his  chair  echoing  the  words :  "  Engaged  to  Georgy  ? 
My  sister  Georgy." 

"She  did  me  the  honor  to  accept  me  two  days  ago;  and 
I  think  I  appreciate  the  extent  of  my  good,  fortune." 

"It's  one  of  the  biggest  surprises  of  my  life — I  can't  con 
ceal  that,  Hugh." 

Chauncey  certainly  looked  as  if  the  world  had  suddenly 
been  turned  topsy-turvy.  Yet  he  hastened  like  the  man 
of  the  world  he  was  to  play  the  acrobat  and  rise  to  the 
emergency.  "I  congratulate  you — old  man,"  he  continued 
putting  out  his  hand.  "  Georgiana  is  usually  referred  to 
as  the  flower  of  the  family."  He  could  not  refrain  from 
adding:  " Does  my  father  know ?" 

"I  have  just  come  from  an  interview  with  Mr.  Chippen- 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  595 

dale  at  his  house.  The  idea  was  evidently  novel  to  him— 
as  it  was  to  you.  But  I  thought  I  detected  signs  that  he 
would  get  used  to  it." 

Used  to  it?  They  must  all  get  used  to  it.  Cool  as  the 
phrase  was,  it  had  struck  the  key-note  of  the  situation. 
Georgiana  was  no  green  or  flighty  girl,  but  a  young  woman 
of  mature  experience.  In  taking  the  bit  between  her  teeth 
and  ignoring  the  traditions  of  the  family  she  must  have 
acted  with  deliberation.  As  BlaisdelPs  wife  she  was  cer 
tain  to  become  an  important  personage.  His  wealth, 
power  and  energy  were  indisputable.  That  phase  of  the 
new  alliance  was  not  to  be  ignored.  Moreover,  there  was 
nothing  to  demonstrate  that  Georgy  had  not  fallen  in  love 
with  him. 

"You've  managed  cleverly  to  keep  us  all  in  the  dark. 
How  long  has  this  been  going  on?"  Chauncey  asked 
indulgently. 

"  Actively,  only  for  a  few  months;  in  a  passive  sense, 
I  feel  justified  in  saying  that  each  of  us  was  interested  by 
the  other  from  the  first  time  we  met;  this  was  when  your 
sister  visited  me  at  my  office  to  enlist  my  services  ontbehalf 
of  the  Bacchante.  I  think  we  may  fairly  ascribe  the  rest 
to  fate." 

"  Still  waters  run  deep.  I  was  on  a  different  track.  I 
had  an  idea — "  But  Chauncey  tactfully  forbore  to  com 
plete  the  sentence.  Fate  ?  If  destiny  were  an  accomplice, 
there  were  certain  compensating  advantages  to  be  weighed; 
advantages  affecting  himself.  Would  not  Blaisdell,  as  a 
brother-in-law,  even  though  unwilling  to  brook  a  rival  on 
State  Street,  become  a  bulwark  to  the  family?  Galling  as 
would  be  for  the  time  being  the  sale  of  his  interests  in 
Electric  Coke,  his  own  swift  financial  recuperation  was 
assured.  His  sister's  husband  would  cease  to  plot  against 


596  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

him.  Chauncey's  spirits  rose  as  his  mind's  eye  depicted 
the  ultimate  consequences  of  the  match.  It  was  virtually 
a  compromise.  Blaisdell  would  be  taken  into  the  family, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  their  individual  enmity  would  ter 
minate;  a  reign  of  amity,  or  at  least,  neutrality  where 
the  other's  interests  were  concerned,  would  be  inaugu 
rated.  Was  not  all  life  a  perpetual  compromise? 
Thereupon  Chauncey  put  his  rainbow-like  conclusions 
into  speech: 

"You've  been  a  remarkably  successful  fellow,  Hugh. 
You're  entitled  to  a  handsome  and  attractive  wife;  and 
Georgy  is  both.  As  I've  said,  she's  the  flower  of  our 
family.  She's  clever,  too.  Before  you  know  it,  she'll  be 
making  your  house  the  social  centre  of  Boston.  She  has 
a  taste  for  lions;  foreigners  who  come  here  and  that  sort  of 
thing." 

Blaisdell  nodded  affably  in  acknowledgment  of  this 
graciousness.  "I  shall  have  a  sponsor,  too,  who  will  en 
lighten  my  ignorance  of  matters  peculiarly  Bostonian — 
which  is  something  to  be  profoundly  grateful  for,  I  fully 
appreciate." 

Was  this  the  last  flicker  of  expiring  independence  or  a 
caveat  for  the  future?  Blaisdell's  bantering  manner  pro 
vided  no  definite  clew.  Chauncey  measured  him  for  an 
instant,  then  said  quietly : 

"It's  certainly  not  to  a  girl's  disadvantage  in  Boston 
that  she  happens  to  belong  to  one  of  the  oldest  families. 
That's  one  of  the — er — peculiarities  which -still  exist  here. 
Georgy  will  be  able  to  go  about  everywhere  with  your 
daughter." 

"I  had  considered  that,  too.  It  seems  to  be  a  happy 
arrangement  from  various  points  of  view.  Among  other 
things,  it  ought  to  bring  you  and  me  closer  together." 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  597 

Specious  as  was  this  tender  of  the  olive  branch,  Chaun- 
cey  could  not  refrain  from  pointing  out  what  seemed  an 
inconsistency. 

"It  ought,"  he  said.  "Yet,  my  dear  fellow,  you  begin 
by  depriving  me  of  Electric  Coke." 

Blaisdell  laughed.  "We've  settled  that.  It's  as  good 
as  a  part  of  the  marriage  contract." 

So  the  thought  of  compromise  was  in  his  mind  also. 
Chauncey  smiled  inwardly  at  his  own  shrewdness.  Mean 
while  Blaisdell  was  saying:  "Besides,  a  large  sum  in 
ready  cash  is  always  convenient.  I  am  giving  you  a  fancy 
price,  Chauncey." 

"Then  it  was  premeditated  philanthropy?" 

Blaisdell  sat  back  with  a  demeanor  of  mock  cherubic 
despair.  "What  a  fastidious  fellow  you  are.  First  you 
blow  hot  and  then  you  blow  cold.  You  protest  against 
parting  with  Electric  Coke  and  in  the  next  breath  you 
accuse  me  of  trying  to  do  you  a  good  turn.  The  stock  is 
worth  intrinsically  more  than  a  thousand  dollars  a  share 
and  you  know  it.  My  offer  is  a  strict  business  proposition. 
It  isn't  strict  in  the  sense  of  trying  to  pare  down  my  pur 
chase  to  the  lowest  possible  figure.  But  taking  into  con 
sideration  the  fact  that  I'm  going  to  marry  your  sister,  I'll 
leave  it  to  you  whether  you  ought  to  insist  on  my  endeav 
oring  to  cut  your  throat.  It  wouldn't  be  human  to  begin 
with;  the  members  of  the  family  should  stand  together. 
And  it  would  be  poor  business  policy,  as  I  have  previously 
intimated." 

The  argument  sounded  indisputable.  Yet  Chauncey 
was  unreasonable  enough  to  reflect,  "In  other  words,  he's 
propping  up  the  honor  of  the  Chippendales,  confound  him! 
and  getting  a  good  thing  at  the  same  time."  But  what  he 
said  was: 


598  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

"All  right.     Seeing  that  you're  virtually  one  of  the 
family,  I  accept." 

"The  old  order  changeth,  yielding  place  to  new; 
And  God  fulfils  himself  in  many  ways, 
Lest  one  good  custom  should  corrupt  the  world." 

And   how   concludes   our  drama?     The   marriage  of 
Georgiana,  youngest  daughter  of  Harrison  Chippendale, 
Esq.,  to  Hugh  McDowell  Blaisdell,  the  prominent  banker, 
philanthropist  and  patron  of  the  arts,  was  the  leading  social 
event  of  the  autumn  following  the  announcement  of  their 
engagement.     Incidentally  the  personality  and  success  of 
the  fortunate  bridegroom  were  the  theme  of  various  epi- 
thalamic  articles  in  the  columns  of  the  press.  These  pointed 
out  that  the  reasons  why  he  invariably  accomplished  his 
purposes  were  that  he  made  friends  with  everybody,  never 
stood  on  points  or  took  captious  attitudes,  was  willing  to 
live  and  let  live,  and  believed  profoundly  in  the  future 
development  of  the  country.    With  such  authority  to  speak 
for  him,  we  will  leave  to  stern  censors  like  Henry  Sumner 
to  insist  that  democracy  runs  a  danger  in  carrying  easy 
going  optimism  to  the  point  where,  from  fear  of  giving 
offence,  or  in  order  to  remain  comfortable,  no  conviction 
endures  the  test  of  opposition.    It  is  for  us  merely  to  scan 
the  passing  show  and  record  the  annals  of  a  changing 
civilization.    There  are  no  more  important  people  in  Bos 
ton  to-day  than  the  Hugh  McDowell  Blaisdells.    Georgiana 
is  a  changed  woman,  so  the  world  says.    It  was  just  the 
opportunity  which  suited  her— a  huge  fortune  and  a  hus 
band  with  brains — and  she  has  made  the  most  of  both. 
The  "coming  out"  ball  given  for  Lora's  daughter  two 
years  after  their  marriage  surpassed  all  former  entertain- 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  599 

merits  in  the  elegance  of  the  appointments  and  the  costli 
ness  of  the  viands  provided.  There  were  " bridge"  tables 
in  the  ante-rooms  for  the  dowagers,  and  the  special  cars 
which  carried  Harvard  College  back  to  Cambridge  ran  by 
broad  daylight.  Georgy's  hand  is  on  the  throttle  of  soci 
ety;  she  intends  to  manage  it  and  her  power  is  already 
acknowledged.  Was  she  not  a  Chippendale?  Her  step 
daughter  Dorothy  was  one  of  the  few  "buds"  invited  to 
the  Puritan  balls  of  which,  of  course,  Georgiana  is  one  of 
the  patronesses.  So  the  whirligig  of  time  brings  about  its 

revenges. 

Are  there  not  Puritans  enough  still  in  Boston  ? 
are  people  who  would  rid  the  world  of  them  altogether, 
claiming  that  they  are  forbidding  and  awkward;  have 
"  customs  but  no  manners."     But  these  would-be  exter 
minators  must  reckon  with  the  baby  carriages  on  the 
sunny  side  of  Commonwealth  Avenue,  where  rosy-cheeked, 
tiny   dripping-pans   with   their   nurses    still    hold    sway, 
obstructing  the  daily  forenoon  walk  of  old  Mr.  Harrison 
Chippendale,  who,  hale  though  tremulous,  has   avoided 
the  comforts  of  McLean  Asylum.    Prominent  among  them 
ride  Priscilla's  boy  twins— one  the  living  image  of  his 
father— while  their  first  child,  a  daughter,  with  the  eyes 
and  the  dash  of  her  mother,  trips  gaily  beside  her  brothers. 
But  let  the  exterminators  take  heart.    There  are  rumors 
that  Henry's  sister,   Mrs.  Paton,  smokes  an  occasional 
cigarette;  not  for  audacity's  sake,  but  because  she  1 
and  insists  that  most  civilized  women  do.    The  social  his 
torian  must  not  forbear  to  state  facts,  though  philosophy 
and  ethics  languish. 

Beatrice  Chippendale  contests  the  palm  of  society  with 
Georgy,  for  her  husband  Chauncey  is  abundantly  pros 
perous.  His  fortunes  are  rehabilitated;  most  of  his  new 


600  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

ventures  have  proved  profitable  with  time;  and  his  firm 
has  regained  its  reputation  for  conservatism.  People  refer 
to  it  already  as  an  old-fashioned  house.  Everything  is 
comparative  in  this  moving  world;  so  the  rashness  of  one 
decade  becomes  the  prudence  of  the  next.  But  Chauncey 
is  a  power  down-town  largely  by  reflected  light,  though  the 
Chippendales  are  to-day,  by  virtue  of  their  money  and  their 
connections,  more  signally  than  ever  the  leading  family  of 
Boston.  Chauncey  is  growing  a  little  stout.  Beatrice 
would  like  him  to  retire  presently,  and  devote  more  per 
sonal  attention  to  their  children,  who  are  to  be  taught  to 
speak  foreign  languages  fluently  with  a  view  to  diplomatic 
careers.  With  this  in  view,  and  Chauncey  out  of  business, 
could  not  the  whole  family  spend  two  years  in  Europe 
delightfully?  Beatrice  has  recently  inherited  from  her 
father,  General  Langdon,  an  additional  half  million. 

Hugh  Blaisdell,  almost  immediately  after  his  marriage, 
withdrew  from  the  firm  of  which,  for  so  many  years,  he 
had  been  the  head  in  everything  but  name,  in  order  to 
devote  himself  more  closely  to  the  affairs  of  Electric  Coke. 
BlaisdelPs  senior,  Delano,  also  retired  at  the  same  time, 
and  to  the  reorganized  partnership  both  Jack  Stoddard  and 
Georgy's  brother  Arthur  were  admitted.  The  new  broker 
age  firm  transacts  BlaisdelPs  dealings  in  the  market  and 
is  believed  to  be  more  closely  in  touch  with  what  is  going 
on  down-town  than  any  of  its  contemporaries.  Electric 
Coke  is  one  of  the  great  industrial  corporations  of  the 
world.  Not  long  ago  Blaisdell  swallowed  up  and  merged 
all  competitors  in  a  huge  trust,  in  which  he  owns  a  con 
trolling  interest  and  of  which  he  is  the  active  president. 
Its  new  stock  sells  at  a  figure  which  represents  a  value  for 
the  old  stock  of  more  than  double  the  price  paid  by  him 
to  Chauncey;  its  profits  are  reported  to  be  fabulous. 


THE  CHIPPENDALES  601 

Boston   can  point  to  Hugh  McDowell  Blaisdell  as  the 
possessor  of  a  " first-class"  fortune. 

Morgan  Drake,  convalescent  from  a  fever  contracted 
during  the  war  with  Spain,  has  written  a  successful  play 
with  a  touch  of  melodrama.  He  is  said  to  be  rather 
ashamed  of  it,  but  he  collects  the  royalties.  Rumor  re 
ports  that  an  engagement  between  him  and  Lily  Sumner 
is  not  improbable  at  this  late  day,  in  spite  of  the  lady's 
devotion  to  Christian  Science-.  Georgiana  BlaisdelPs  sis 
ters  seem  doomed  to  a  single  life;  but  that  lot  is  borne 
philosophically  by  both  of  them.  The  elder  has  recently 
been  chosen  a  Back  Bay  member  of  the  State  Board  of 
Charities,  and  the  younger  is  in  close  touch  with  the  new 
Emmanuel  healing  movement.  Lora's  son  is  at  Harvard 
in  his  sophomore  year.  His  father  would  like  to  see  him 
"make"  one  of  the  leading  clubs;  but  college  students  are 
independent  spirits,  and  a  large  allowance  is  by  no  means 
a  passport.  For  the  moment  the  young  man's  most 
absorbing  interest  is  his  high-power  touring  car,  m  which 
he  careers  about  the  country,  and,  like  Jehu,  the  son  of 
Nimshi,  he  driveth  furiously. 

But  what  of  the  New  England  conscience?  What  of 
Henry  Sumner  ?  It  will  not  expire  while  he  is  left  to  guard 
it.  Alert  he  stands,  as  the  angel  with  the  flaming  sword  at 
the  gate  of  Paradise,  to  detect  and  repel  the  foes  of  civic 
righteousness.  Reverence  for  the  exact  truth  is  his  watch 
word;  he  palters  not  with  principle.  Graceless  and  a  little 
grim  he  still  tilts  at  windmills;  but  prompted  by  the  wife 
of  his  bosom,  he  tries  to  temper  his  rampant  zeal  with  the 
gospel  of  joyous  toleration.  Yet  even  as  the  leopard 
changeth  not  its  spots,  so  it  is  with  the  true  Bostonian. 

But  the  would-be  exterminator  of  the  Puritan  is  likely  to 
have  his  way,  despite  Priscilla's  twins.  Already  the  social 


602  THE  CHIPPENDALES 

type  for  which  Henry  Sumner  stands  is  waning  fast  before 
the  pressure  of  foreign  and  visible  forces.  Let  whoever 
doubts  this  face  Boston  from  the  region  of  the  west  when 
the  setting  sun  transfigures  the  landscape  of  the  Back  Bay 
fens  and  ponder.  On  what  does  the  eye  linger  ?  On  the 
commanding  dome  of  the  Christian  Science  temple,  on  the 
Saracenic  top  of  the  Hebrew  Synagogue,  on  the  official 
roof  of  the  Roman  Catholic  See.  Beyond  this  vanguard  of 
conflicting  old-world  doctrines,  reincarnated  on  New  Eng 
land  soil,  lies  an  already  cosmopolitan  city,  proud  of  its 
traditions  and  its  glory.  Richer  than  ever  in  the  fruits  of 
its  industry  and  thrift,  seething— still  seething— with  all 
the  problems  of  the  universe,  will  it  hold  its  distinction  as 
a  moulder  of  thought  and  a  quickener  of  conscience  when 
Henry  and  his  like  slumber  with  the  mastodon  and  the 
buffalo  ?  That  is  for  posterity  to  answer.  Or,  if  you  are 
impatient  to  know,  ask  Blaisdell.  He  can  tell  you  anything. 


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